For the Dawn Vol II
by toneofjoy
Summary: Volume 2. Madeline, Oliver, and their friends have left Hogwarts and are becoming adults. They struggle to navigate the "real world" of magic beyond Hogwarts. And as You-Know-Who returns, how will they cope?
1. Beginnings

Welcome, beautiful readers, to the second volume of this story. The word count gets significantly longer in this half of the story, and the relationships between our beloved characters become significantly more complex (as in "real life"). I hope you feel comfortable sending me notice if something is awry or if you have constructive feedback. This tale, as with everything, is a continual work in progress. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Beginnings**

"Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark."  
\- Rabindranath Tagore

* * *

The Hogwarts Express arrived back at King's Cross late in the evening, and while Madeline would have been happy to simply apparate home with her parents and be off to sleep, she was whisked away by her friends before she could find her own parents.

Elaine was the first to break her away from Oliver and Mr. and Mrs. Wood. She met Mr. and Mrs. Ellison, and they were as Madeline had always expected: tanned, well-to-do, and carefree-looking people. If she could get a week or two away from her family and McGonagall's training, she would certainly want to visit Cornwall for a proper holiday.

Next was Claire, whose Muggle parents Madeline hadn't seen in two or three years. They hugged her tightly, told her that they appreciated all she had done for their daughter, and then promised to have her over at their home (which was in Lancaster) soon as well. Claire gave Madeline a teary-eyed hug and then made her way into Muggle London with her parents.

Madeline spun around looking for her or Oliver's parents when she saw Nicolas approaching her, a sort of constricted look on his face. Looking past him, she saw a man at least twenty years Nick's senior following his path. The man resembled Nicolas—or, perhaps, Nicolas resembled him: tall, hair as black as night, pale blue eyes. Nicolas stopped in front of her, stepped aside, and introduced his father to her.

"Madeline, my father, William Tennant."

"Mr. Tennant, it's a pleasure to meet you," said Madeline, her hand extended towards him. When he didn't reach to shake her hand, she dropped it.

"Madeline Palmer," he said, gazing at her intently for a moment. She forced a smile, glanced at Nicolas, watched as he took a deep breath, and then she heard William Tennant laugh.

"I remember seeing you on this platform many years ago, and I thought you were such a scrawny little mouse. Time does wonderful things for those who are fortunate," said Nicolas' father, a charming grin crossing his once-stern face. "You'll have to grace us with your presence someday soon. Truly, our home seems to be void of any beauty as of late."

"Have you not met Margaret yet, then?" asked Madeline, smiling. "She's a greater beauty than I, I assure you. As is Claire, I believe—her eyes are something to be reckoned with."

"Have I met these women, son?"

"Margaret Bradbury is the woman to whom I am currently attached, father. Claire is a dear friend of ours, a clever Muggleborn witch who—"

"Ah, yes, I remember you telling me of the Muggleborn years ago. Denson, wasn't it?"

"Yes, father."

Before the elder Mr. Tennant could respond, there was a shout of "Nick!" and Margaret Bradbury joined them, looking more the part of a doting future wife than Madeline could ever hope to manage. After Nicolas made the formal introduction, he gave Madeline a quick, dismissive hug.

"Go find your parents. I'll see you soon, alright?"

Madeline nodded and took off. It didn't take long for her to spot her own father in the crowd. He was wearing the Muggle button-down shirt she had given him for Christmas.

"Where have you been?" asked her mother, who seemed more on edge than usual.

"I was stopped by my friends and their families. Claire's family wants me to visit, as does Elaine's," said Madeline, hugging both of her parents. "I've missed you."

"Let's get Augustus and your trunk and get you home," said her father.

* * *

That night, though she ate a brief meal with her parents, she mostly settled Augustus and her things back in her room and fell straight to sleep. It wasn't until she heard Augustus hoot that she realised that someone had unlocked and opened her window. She was so accustomed to Hogwarts' safety measures that she had forgotten how vulnerable she was away from school. Madeline scrambled to grab her wand from her bedside table, her heart pounding, when Oliver pulled himself through her window.

"Oliver," she said, half-relieved and half-angry.

"Would you rather me apparate from now on?" he asked. She placed her wand back on her bedside table and met him halfway to her bed. He pulled her into his arms.

"I haven't thought about it, to be honest," she said, her face pressed to his chest.

"I just wanted to see you again," he said.

They made it to Madeline's bed and did nothing but fall into a much-needed sleep.

The next morning, though, caused some alarm within the Wood household. Gwendolyn Wood was the first to notice her son's absence, and she woke her husband far sooner than he would have liked. Groggy and irritable, Paul Wood did not feel like dealing with any trouble so early. It was just after daybreak.

"Paul, our son is missing!" said Gwen, swatting her husband in the head with a pillow.

"He's not _missing_ , love, just because he's not in his room. Oliver doesn't _go missing_. He's at the pitch, the lake, or with Madeline, like always."

"You think he's already at Olivia and Henry's?"

"I'd bet my ol' Silver Arrow that's where our lad's at," he said, yawning.

"Should I…"

"No. Let them be."

"Just how long am I supposed to 'let them be'?"

"How often did I used to sneak into your room?"

"Far more often than I would have liked, honestly—"

"Such lies!" shouted Paul Wood, who sat up from his bed to see his wife grinning. "You always begged me to stay."

"I did _no_ such thing! I wonder..."

"Love, if this is really bothering you, have Olivia or Henry check on them. Or simply come back to bed and allow me to distract you."

Before she could respond, there was a tapping on the window of their room. The sound had come from the beak of a beautiful barn owl.

"Isn't that Madeline's owl?"

"It is," said Gwen. As she allowed the owl to enter, she noticed a small note clasped in its beak. "It's from Olivia. He's there. She found them asleep in Maddie's bed. Fully clothed, it says."

At this, Paul Wood laughed.

"See, not a thing to worry about. Now come back to bed."

* * *

After letting the poor dears sleep, Olivia woke them up for lunch. Their parents were all gathered in the Palmer's kitchen.

"Would you two like some tea?" asked Olivia.

"Yes, please," said Madeline, who was still rubbing her eyes and leaning against Oliver's chest.

"None for me, thanks," said Oliver.

As they joined their parents at the table, Madeline had the decency to feel embarrassed, but Oliver seemed completely unperturbed, even after the awkward questions.

"So how often will we be finding you stowed away in Maddie's room, son?" asked Paul, his tone nonchalant.

Oliver shrugged, and Madeline thanked her mother for the tea. When no one else spoke, Madeline's father cleared his throat.

"I want to make it clear that I trust you both immeasurably," said Henry Palmer, looking at Oliver and Madeline with his calm gaze. "You're both adults, and if you are prepared to be treated as such, I have no qualms with that."

"Henry," said Olivia Palmer, her voice betraying shock.

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, who straightened his back. "I appreciate it."

Madeline smiled, thankful, at her father.

"That having been said," Henry continued, "we need to discuss your last letter, Maddie."

"Aye," she said, sighing. "Where would you like to begin?"

"How about you tell us where this change of mind came from?" said Henry.

"A few days before the end of term, McGonagall told me that she had written to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on my behalf."

"Minerva McGonagall sent in a recommendation for you?" asked Paul. Madeline had to restrain a smile—his brown eyebrows landed in the same place as Oliver's had when she broke the news to him.

"She did. She has also offered to take me as her Transfiguration pupil, with Dumbledore's encouragement. She will personally be continuing my education, insofar as Transfiguration is concerned. This offer has been accepted, and is to stand, despite my career path."

"And is this what you want? To continue studying Transfiguration?" asked Henry. Madeline smiled at her father.

"It is. I believe it to be a great honor."

"McGonagall probably hasn't had an apprentice in many years," said Gwen, shaking her head in disbelief. "An honour, indeed."

"And when is this to start?" asked Olivia.

"Whenever I hear from McGonagall," said Madeline quickly. "She said she'd send me an owl this summer."

"The Auror department won't send out offers for several weeks," said Paul, scratching his chin. "So you won't need to make a decision immediately."

"Perhaps you'd like to still train at St Andrews until that time?" asked Henry.

"Can I do that?" Madeline asked, looking from her mother to her father. A year or two ago, Olivia Palmer had made an arrangement with the Healers at St Andrews that would allow Madeline to train there the summer after she left Hogwarts. Madeline hadn't been sure that the offer was still standing.

"Would you still want to?" asked Olivia. "You seem pretty set on being an Auror."

"Nothing is set right now," she replied, shrugging. "We left school yesterday, after all. Don't these things take time?"

"They do, my dear," said Henry. "They do, indeed."

* * *

Madeline awoke for a few mornings expecting to see her four-poster and patchwork quilt, circular fake windows, and Elaine Ellison bobbing around the room getting prepared for the day. Instead, she found herself in her old bedroom. It was still a bit of a mess—books in precarious piles in every corner, trunk lying open, clothes strewn about as if she could never decide what to wear, and other bits and bobs were carelessly littered in literally every part of the room.

A few days passed, and Madeline didn't hear from McGonagall. The most she had done was make plans with Claire and send Augustus to Cornwall. She didn't expect him to return for a few days. While she had plenty of time to sleep and relax, her body was still very much on a school schedule. Except for the first morning, she hadn't broken her routine of rising early.

"Maddie, you need to go back to bed," said her mother, frowning. It was the Friday after having left school. "Why could you possibly want to be up this early?"

"Habit," said Madeline with a shrug.

Their daughter was sitting upright at the kitchen table, her legs tucked to her side, and a plate of half-eaten food pushed towards the corner of the table. A newspaper-looking set of parchments were sprawled in its place. Her wavy hair had been pulled into a plait the night before and had somehow survived a night of deep sleep, and her Hufflepuff jumper was paired with tartan pajama shorts and Puddlemere socks. This—looking like a frightful mess, at least in her opinion—was what she had missed the most about being at home. At school she was held to a standard of perfection, as Oliver had once said, and had met it willingly. But at home, surrounded by only family and those as close as family, she was free to look however she pleased. It was a freedom that she had somehow not fully felt during her school breaks.

She had not, however, missed her mom's nagging.

"Did you make breakfast?" asked her father, who seemed, as per usual, mildly amused.

"Yep. Help yourselves," she said. "So, last night, I received my first copy of Transfiguration Today. I've just subscribed, and I'm already glad."

"You didn't finish your breakfast, dear," said Olivia.

"I ate plenty," said Madeline. "I promise. I really wish I'd known to start readings these sorts of papers sooner. There's so much more than turning kettles into hares and conjuring goldfish—I'd no idea anyone other than McGonagall spent time thinking and writing about these sorts of things!"

"Well sure—they have journals for most subjects, experts in certain fields writing about their theories and discoveries," said Henry, nodding. "But I agree with your mother, Maddie. You should be sleeping. You need a few days of rest, at least."

"You need to eat more, too. You've lost weight," said Olivia.

"No I haven't," replied Madeline, looking offended. "All of my clothes still fit the same. I still _look_ the same."

Madeline looked down at her arms and legs, glanced back at her parents skeptically, and went back to reading. Her parents ate, talking about something to do with St Mungo's, but Madeline was too engrossed in her reading to listen properly. Henry finished his meal before his wife, and he had left the room to get dressed when Oliver entered through the fireplace.

"Oliver, dear, are you hungry?"

He smiled, sat next to Madeline, and nodded.

"Sure."

"Good. Tell Maddie she needs to finish her breakfast," said Olivia as she prepared a plate of food for him.

" _Mum_!"

"Well, if you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to him."

"Look what I've subscribed to," said Madeline, showing him the copy of her first Transfiguration Today and ignoring her mother. "It's so interesting. I can't believe I didn't do this sooner."

"Very nice," said Oliver, nodding. "Maddie, have you eaten this morning?"

Madeline stopped reading and met Oliver's gaze, which was soft with concern and, to her surprise, guilt. She knew what was happening—he agreed with her mother and knew she'd be angry at him for it. Feeling guilty herself, Madeline huffed. They were all just concerned—there was no use getting tetchy about it. She needed to grow up a little, she decided.

"Yes, I ate. See!" she said, pointing at the plate of half-eaten food and looking pointedly at her mother. "I don't have anywhere to go or be, and I will eat again when I'm hungry, alright?"

"Hear from McGonagall yet?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No, not yet," said Maddie with a sigh. "She might have taken a holiday."

"Which is precisely what you should be doing. Didn't you say you were invited to Cornwall?" asked Olivia as Henry re-entered the kitchen, dressed in his work robes.

"Elaine did invite me to her place, yeah."

"Consider going," said her father mildly. "If only for a week or two. You deserve a holiday. You both do."

"I've already owled her," said Madeline. "I promise! You should be getting ready for work, mum. Stop, I'll clean that."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I made the mess, and I have time to clean it up."

Olivia smiled at her daughter and left the room, but not before kissing her husband on the cheek. After Olivia had exited, Henry Palmer turned to his daughter.

"Give her some time," said Henry. Madeline stood to hug her dad. "She's not used to your being grown up."

"Yeah, I'm having a similar problem," said Oliver, shaking his head. Henry squeezed Oliver's shoulder in a paternal way that made Madeline's heart melt.

"I'll see you lot later. Keep out of trouble, will you?"

"Will do," said Oliver, smiling.

After he disapparated, Olivia bustled into the kitchen in her St Mungo's uniform—lime green with the wand and bone crossing—and smiled at the pair, who were both silently sitting at the kitchen table still, Madeline reading her paper and Oliver eating.

"Try to get some rest today, Maddie. Oliver, could you convince her to rest?"

"I'm sure I can," he said. Madeline rolled her eyes as subtly as possible.

"Thanks, dear. Have a good day, you two!" she said and disappeared with a pop.

Madeline continued to read after her parents had left for work. After a few minutes, Oliver finished eating and began washing the dishes.

"I can do that," said Madeline, standing to join him at the sink.

"It's fine," he said, not letting her within dish-washing range. Admitting defeat, she wrapped her arms around his waist and stood there hugging him while he washed the dishes.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with her," said Madeline, thinking of her mother.

"She's gotten a bit worse," said Oliver quietly. "So's mine."

"It's like they want us to be adults, but they can't really handle the idea of us being grown up."

"It's like your dad says—just give them some time. I think all we can do is be patient," he said, drying his hands on a dish towel and turning to face Madeline. Her arms moved to around his neck and his found her waist. It was so easy and natural, being with him, that she had a hard time understanding why she hadn't seen it sooner.

"I guess I can try that," she said, playfully rolling her eyes. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose."

"It's that or we both move out."

There was a seriousness with which he spoke that startled her a bit. She didn't want to think about being independent yet. They needed jobs, which required job experience. They needed money, which neither of them really had. Despite being legal adults, they were just as dependent on their parents as they had been for the past seventeen years, and that was why their parents were struggling. They were in an awkward transition phase that precluded independence, at least until they were employed.

"You didn't like the sound of that," said Oliver, who noted her silence with a pang in his chest. Madeline stroked the hollow of his cheek, and he kissed her hand.

"We're not ready. We're seventeen, fresh out of school, and completely—"

"I know," he said, sighing. "I know. Let's just get through this summer of... waiting and hoping."

"We're going to be offered jobs, that much your father knows. He said that's how it always works. The summer after you graduate is basically the only time job offers are given without much supplication. Whether or not it's what we want..."

"Is a different story."

"Exactly," said Madeline.

"I'm not worried about you, not even a little bit. You and Nick have jobs secured."

"And I'm not worried about you. Puddlemere would be bonkers not to have you, and I know for a fact that Montrose has you on their radar."

"You couldn't possibly know that for a fact," said Oliver, who rolled his eyes.

"I could, actually. I have connections."

"Like who?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, grinning.

It was something she had already grown accustomed to—Oliver's hand touching her face or hair, followed by a kiss. It started as it always did: slowly, as if he couldn't bear the idea of haste. His hand slid towards her neck, getting tangled in her plaited hair, and Madeline didn't need encouragement to close the distance. His other hand slid under her jumper, touching the bare flesh of her hip. Once she was pressed against him, Oliver lifted her up and held her even closer, causing Madeline to break this kiss for a moment. Grinning, he carried her to the kitchen table, where they resumed.

Lost to themselves, the couple did not hear a person apparate into the sitting room near the front door. This person looked around, walked through the house, and found his way into the kitchen, where he stopped, stared at the couple with surprise, and whistled.

"You know, as often as you're together, you'd think the two of you would be able to keep your hands off one another."

A mutual sigh broke their kiss.

"If we pretend we didn't hear him, d'you think he'd go away?"

"No, he'd stay and watch, like the prat he is," said Oliver.

"Oh, come now. I'd be more than happy to let you two go back to your snogging. It's my goal to be the godfather to your children, remember?" said Nicolas Tennant, who was grinning. He moved into the kitchen as Madeline stood from the table.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Your mum said you'd be over here, Oliver. I did _try_ not to barge in, honest."

"Stellar job," said Madeline. "You hungry?"

"A bit," said Nicolas, shrugging. "I _can_ leave, you know. You have only to ask."

"You're already here," said Oliver. "What's up, mate?"

"I suppose… I'll have to get used to sharing my news with both of you, won't I?" he asked, looking between the couple before him. Madeline looked to Oliver, who nodded, his gaze glued to Nick's.

"Yes, you will," he said, his tone hitting the serious notch it had struck earlier. Sometimes Madeline forgot that they were only seventeen, and it was because of scenarios like these—when Nicolas and Oliver, who both _looked_ the part of fully-grown men, were standing and speaking to one another without humor or pretense. It was sobering. It was like seeing into her not-so-distant future.

"Right," said Nicolas, smiling to break the tension. "Well, there's no harm in you both knowing. I'd probably end up telling you both on separate occasions anyway. Margaret and I have had our first serious row."

"First _serious_ row?" asked Oliver while Madeline laughed through her nose inconspicuously.

"Yes, first _serious_ row. She's been spending every night with me and wants to continue to do so. I told her we needed to talk about it, talk about boundaries—"

At this, Madeline burst with laughter. Both Oliver and Nicolas looked at her like she had lost her mind.

" _Boundaries_? Does that word not ring any bells, Nick?"

"Not particularly, no—wait," he said, his eyes widening. When he made the connection, he laughed as loudly as Madeline had.

"What am I missing?" asked Oliver, who was the only one not amused.

"That was what our dear Nicolas said to _me_ when referring to my relationship with you. He said—oh, what was it—'We need to discuss boundaries.'"

"Something to that effect," said Nicolas, who was still laughing. "I mean, we did, didn't we?"

Madeline stared at him.

" _No_. 'Boundaries' weren't our problem, and they probably aren't with Margo. Your problem is that you're afraid of commitment," said Madeline.

"Afraid of—Madeline, I think you're being a bit unfair here," said Nicolas, his tone serious again. "My _problem_ is that Margo thinks that she has to spend every night with me or I won't want to marry her. You know how I know that? She _told_ me. Last night."

Madeline and Oliver both blanched a little.

"Did you tell her that she was being daft?"

"You can't tell Margaret Bradbury that she's being daft," said Oliver, shaking his head.

"Why not? I think—"

"I told you that you two had moved too quickly," said Oliver, ignoring Madeline's question and looking directly as Nicolas, who was pacing. "She has no idea who she is or what she wants, and she's looking to you for all of her answers."

"She's ready to be a housewife, is what you're saying," said Nicolas. "I already knew that."

"We all knew that," mumbled Madeline. Oliver appeased her with a quick smile but then turned his attention back to Nicolas.

"Well, what else happened?"

"She had a sort of fit or something!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. Madeline rolled her eyes again.

"No offense, but you've got to stop thinking of your future wife as something completely incomprehensible. She's a _woman_ , not an earthworm," said Madeline, setting a plate of food on the table in front of him.

"I need everyone to stop referring to her as my future wife," he growled. "Just because I mentioned the possibility—it doesn't mean... Maddie, don't look at me like that! She's what my father wants!"

"You don't... _Merlin's beard_. You don't love her," said Madeline, staring at Nicolas with her mouth slack. "Not even... and she _knows_ it. That's why, Nick. That's _why_ she's trying to stay with you every night! She's clinging to you like she's got pincers."

At this, Nicolas stared at Madeline, his pale blue eyes looking larger than usual in the early-morning light of the kitchen. He said not a word to refute her. Oliver was bent over, his elbows on the counter, his thumbs digging into his forehead.

Before anyone felt inclined to speak, someone apparated into the room over.

"Claire?" called out Madeline, looking in that direction. A moment later, Claire walked into the kitchen, and all three of her friends gasped at seeing her.

"Hello!" said Claire, smiling brightly.

"Your—your—" said Nicolas, his mouth wide open, his finger pointing, dumbstruck, at her head.

"Your hair is gone!" shouted Madeline, her tone hinting at horror. "You didn't tell me you'd chopped all your hair off!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she said, walking into the kitchen and hugging Madeline. She grinned, but it fell from her face as she took in their reactions. "Does it look that bad? I rather liked it."

"It looks perfect. Don't listen to Maddie," said Nicolas, who moved around the table to touch Claire's soft blonde hair. She didn't move away from his tentative touch.

"It really does suit you, Claire," said Oliver, smiling.

"It's shorter than mine," said Nicolas, who chuckled.

"Hmm," said Madeline, whose eyes were narrowed. "I'll get used to it, I guess."

"You'll 'get used to it'?" asked Nicolas, who glared at Madeline. "With that mess on your head, you'd best be kinder. You look like you've been mauled by a hippogriff while out foraging for Tentaculas."

"Watch it," said Oliver, whose burly arms were crossed defensively. "Most of that's my doing."

"Oh, right, I forgot—Claire, I nearly walked in on these two—"

"You nearly walked in on _nothing_ , Nick, so shut it," said Madeline. "Now am I feeding the two of you, or are you just here to taunt me?"

"Fine, fine," said Nicolas, who took a seat at the table. Oliver and Claire joined him. "Got any coffee?"

"Sure. I'll make some while you fill Claire in on the recent developments," said Madeline. Nicolas sighed and started telling Claire about Margaret. Before Madeline could move too far away from Oliver, however, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

"What did you do to my hair?" Madeline asked, sure to include a pout.

"I improved it," he said, touching her hair and grinning.

"He's lying," said Claire, but she was smiling. "Here, I'll brush it out for you and re-plait it. Grab a brush."

"No," whined Nicolas. "Coffee first?"

The four friends spent the rest of their morning together, eating, drinking coffee, and catching up. Nicolas opened up about Margaret, and both Claire and Oliver admonished him for moving so quickly. Nicolas also explained to them that his father was one hundred percent against his working for the Ministry.

Claire told them the story of how she decided to cut her hair. While her mother tried to talk her out of it, saying that she was simply upset about her break up, Claire was convinced that she needed to part with something, so it might as well be something that would grow back.

"I feel free," she said, a smile coming so easily to her lips and eyes that it was hard to believe that she'd been dealt a low blow. "Which makes me want to fly. Speaking of—Oliver, have you heard anything yet?"

"Of course not; it's hardly been a week," he said, looking at his hands. "I've... already done absolutely everything I can do, so I try not to worry. It's out of my hands."

"Too right," said Claire quietly. "We've all done our best."

* * *

By the time Augustus returned from Cornwall, Madeline still hadn't heard from McGonagall. The response from Elaine was simple: they would meet in Diagon Alley on Monday morning and apparate to her house. She would be spending six days without Oliver, Claire, Nicolas, or her parents, and the idea was simultaneously titillating and nerve-wracking. Elaine specifically required the following of Madeline:

\- no books regarding anything remotely related to studying or work, including her new Transfiguration Today.  
\- no contact with Oliver or anyone else. "It's just a week," she wrote, "you can manage that long."  
\- no broom. This particular requirement immediately irritated Oliver. "Who is she to ask that of you?" Oliver had cried, looking properly insulted. "'No broom.' What the bloody hell will you two be doing?"

Madeline's parents were more than happy to let her go, and she felt as though everyone had the wrong idea: Madeline had overworked herself a bit while in school, sure, but she was _done_! She needed to be pursuing her goals; she had things to do! She wasn't really _opposed_ to the idea of relaxing. She loved sleeping! As for being away from Oliver, she felt that this was a necessary endeavor, an experiment of sorts, to see how she felt about being away from him. She felt that it was part of their maturation as individuals and as a couple. While it would be easy to simply apparate to see him, and vice versa, Madeline was dedicated to seeing this holiday through. Oliver was far less thrilled with the plan.

"I just don't understand why I can't see you," he said the afternoon before she was to leave. It had been a week since they had left school.

"Because you see me every day," she replied. She was packing her clothes by hand, and Oliver was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I promised to see you every day, though," he said, his voice quiet. "I thought..."

"You thought what?" she asked, prompting him to complete his thought. She wanted to know what he was thinking.

"Will you see Claire? Or Nick?" he asked, deflecting her question.

"Definitely not. We might see Kendra, maybe that Adam bloke from Ravenclaw."

Oliver sighed and closed his eyes.

"You really hate this, don't you?"

"Of course! Why shouldn't I?"

"It's just a week. You could go spend time with Nick or Richard."

"I don't want to see Richard," grumbled Oliver. "He's miserable and selfish, and I don't need that right now."

Oliver was grumpy, and she wasn't sure if she could make it better without changing her mind. He'd have to figure something out—she was excited about disappearing for a week. Plus, he needed to see what it was like to not rely on her presence or her opinions and thoughts. Elaine was right, Madeline realised suddenly—they were inseparable. How healthy was it to rely on someone so much? Was this why Nick broke up with her? How long had this been going on?

After she finished packing, Madeline joined Oliver on her bed. He was brooding, his arms crossed and his eyes devoid of any happiness or laughter.

"You look like you've lost a match," she said, sliding next to him. "It's not even a whole week. It's about six days. If you don't want to see Richard, I'm sure Nick would love to stay up here for a bit, if only to get away from his father or Margaret."

Oliver huffed, not saying a word. Madeline felt herself growing angry, but she refused to fight with him the night before she left. That wouldn't bode well for either of them. Rather than taking his bait, she sat on him, her hips straddling his.

"You haven't flown today, have you?"

"No," he said, tone petulant, not meeting her eyes.

"Would you like to go now?" she asked, uncrossing his arms and placing a hand on either side of his head. He met her eyes, read the mischievous expression there, and the corners of his lips turned up a little.

"No," he repeated, his tone very different this time.

"Are you going to be grumpy the rest of the night?" she asked, trailing a line of kisses along his neck. He took a moment longer to respond.

"No," he said once again, his voice sounding far away. Madeline smiled.

"Good. Just think of how sweet our reunion will be," she said. "I'll probably be annoyed with Elaine and her perfect little life in Cornwall by the end of the first day, but I'm determined to see this through."

"I am glad you're going, honest. But it's silly that she's telling you what you can and cannot do."

"She's just… trying to help."

"Right," said Oliver, rolling his eyes and sitting up. Madeline wrapped her legs around his waist and decided to pull Oliver's t-shirt up and over his head. He began kissing her neck.

"When I was bathing this morning, a thought occurred to me that I haven't been able to rid from my brain," she said as she threw his t-shirt onto her desk.

"And what was that?"

"I've known you for seventeen years, and I've never seen you naked," she said, hoping she didn't sound as awkward as she felt. Oliver pulled away to look at her.

"No, no you haven't," he said, laughing.

"Why's that funny?"

"Because... well…"

" _What_?"

"You're—you're serious?"

"Aren't I always? Why is that a shock?"

"It's just that I… well, I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that we weren't at that stage," said Oliver, looking more embarrassed than she felt. Madeline struggled with how to respond.

"We've only been together since Christmas," she said, nodding.

"Exactly. I wasn't going to rush anything or pressure you in any way."

"I know. I just feel like, I dunno, maybe I have that right," she said, nodding in a resolute sort of way.

"The right to what? See me starkers? Maddie... you are the sole owner of that right," said Oliver, pulling her closer and kissing her.

"So… now? Now's good. Now—that works for me."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have been clearer. Not tonight. Not before you're going to be gone for a week," he said, shaking his head. "This isn't a farewell sort of experimental… thing. I want to be able to see you the next day."

"Why?"

"To gauge your reaction, to see how you feel, to—damn, just… be _with_ you and... talk to you."

Madeline saw the concern set deep in his eyes and expression.

"Ol, I'm not going to come back another person," she said, touching his face. "Well-rested and tanned, hopefully, but not any different."

* * *

That night, Madeline woke suddenly and wasn't sure why. She had grown accustomed to hearing Augustus hoot gently every time Oliver pulled himself up through her window or apparated into her room, but this time it seemed as though he hooted, "Intruder!"

Groaning and not immediately recognising the difference, she tried to roll over. Oliver was right next to her, deep in sleep, so she didn't understand why Augustus was hooting. Madeline's eyes flickered open. She sat up, looked around, and saw no one... nothing but Augustus.

"Stupid bird—what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with him," came a man's voice, and Madeline jumped toward her wand. She opened her mouth to shout, but no sound came out. It was then that Nicolas appeared, apparently removing a disillusionment charm. Despite her anger, she was impressed. He'd performed a silencing charm nonverbally and ridiculously quickly.

"You should really consider doing more than locking your window. Or are Oliver's late-night visits worth the risk?"

Madeline opened her mouth to retort, but again no sound could be heard. Furious, Madeline reversed the silencing charm nonverbally. It had been one of the first difficult charms she had mastered without speaking, for reasons such as this.

"What the _bloody hell_ are you playing at?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, sitting next to her window, where there was a cushioned ledge.

"You wanted to _talk_ , so you _broke into my house_ and _silenced me_ so no one could hear me shout? _Are you mad_?" she hissed.

"I do what I can," he said, making himself comfortable. Madeline noticed that her friend looked rather distressed. It had only been a few days since she had seen him, yet he already seemed years older. Oliver rolled over in the bed but did not wake, and Madeline was thankful for being mostly clothed. She slid out of bed, lit a candle, and sat next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Oliver's always been a heavy sleeper," he whispered, laughing quietly.

"Nick… what's going on?"

"I couldn't sleep, and to be honest, I don't want to go back home," he said, closing his eyes, a frown set deep into his face.

Madeline assumed it had something to do with his father.

"Couldn't you stay with Margaret? I'm sure she'd love to—"

"She's on holiday. She went to Italy to visit her mum's family. My father said I wasn't allowed to leave the country under any circumstances."

"Did… did he say why?" she asked, not sure how to proceed.

"No. Only that my responsibilities were here."

"Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"No, it's not. Thank you for reminding me. Is your first meeting with McGonagall coming up soon?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't heard from her," said Madeline.

"This is probably going to yield a negative reaction from you, and I don't blame you," he said, turning to face her and remaining cautious.

"Spit it out."

"I want you to teach me everything McGonagall teaches you," he said, his voice full of a quiet desperation she hadn't heard in years.

"Dare I ask why?" she asked, sighing. "Nick… there's no guarantee that I will be successful, so placing your faith and trust in me—"

"Has never been a mistake before, so why would it be now?"

"Because this is _dangerous_. McGonagall instructing me is one thing, but my bringing said instruction back to you and just hoping for the best? It's unnecessarily risky."

"What do you suggest, then?" asked Nicolas.

"Suggest for what—your continued education? There's a massive wizarding library in London; I'm sure you could find whatever it is you're looking for there."

"I want to be an Animagus, even if it's a secret. Actually, it would be best..."

"No, Nick, I'm not—you can't just drag me into your illicit plans. Being an unregistered Animagus _won't_ help you get through Auror training. You do realise that, right?"

Oliver stirred, but he continued sleeping.

"It's not Auror training that has me concerned, Maddie," whispered Nicolas, his gaze worried and his voice quiet. Madeline took a deep breath, wishing she could do more to comfort her friend.

"You have to tell me more if you want my help. I'm not going to agree to anything blindly. I know this has something to do with your father."

"Not tonight. I'll let you sleep. You, however, need to apparate-proof your room and keep your window locked by a spell or password."

"Why? Who would break into my room other than you or Oliver?"

"I don't know, but something about leaving you completely vulnerable just doesn't sit well with me," said Nicolas, his tone severe.

"Pardon? Completely _vulnerable_? Are you serious?"

"Maddie, I could have kidnapped or killed you tonight without anyone knowing, without Oliver even stirring. That bothers me. _Please_ consider some sort of precaution," he pleaded. "Oliver will agree with me."

"Fine," she conceded. "Just. Fine. I'll figure something out and let you know."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said, and Madeline sighed again. They stood and she gave Nicolas a hug. For a few moments, they stood there, arms wrapped around each other. Oliver stirred and coughed, and as he sat up, barely awake, Madeline broke the hug and squeezed Nicolas' shoulder.

"Nick, you know we're all here for you. You don't have to go through anything alone. Oliver, Claire, and I—and Richard, too, I'm sure—we're all here for you."

"Nick?" asked Oliver, blinking blearily. "Mate—what's going on?"

"Just needed to see you two love birds."

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah," said Nick, nodding.

"I'm going to Cornwall tomorrow for a week to visit Elaine. No visitors, no contact. Feel free to bother Oliver, even stay with him if you want," said Madeline. "Do you need to stay in Oliver's room?"

"No, but I'll consider it," said Nicolas, smiling. "Get back to bed. I'll see you soon."

Madeline locked her window with a spell as Nicolas moved away from the bed.

"Good. Now do something about the rest of your house," he said, looking serious. Oliver had already lied back down.

"I will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

As Madeline climbed back into her bed, allowing Oliver to pull her close to him, she continued thinking about Nicolas and his father. While she began processing his fear and his concerns, she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Rekindling**

Nicolas watched the tension dissolve away from her as he finished his small speech. He hadn't meant to say so much, but he was tired of holding back. That was how he felt, and if she hated him for it, so be it.


	2. Rekindling

**Chapter 2: Rekindling**

"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."  
\- G.K. Chesterton

* * *

"I _detest_ waiting," she muttered, her frowning lips casting an unpleasant shadow on an otherwise beautiful face. It was then that she remembered that she was in a public place—sitting on a bench next to the River Avon—and needed to keep her composure.

Waiting had never been her style, nor was it something to which she had grown accustomed. No, even during her seven years at Hogwarts, Margaret Bradbury had never been made to wait so long for someone who had proven to be so uncouth. She was tempted to stand, stretch her legs, and explore the historic city (for she had never been to Bath), but something anchored her to the damp, wooden bench.

It was just as well. Despite her impatience and reluctance, Margaret had, out of habit, brought a book to read and was nearly finished with it. Sitting next to the River Avon was surprisingly relaxing. She had spent the last two weeks at her mother's family's sea-side home in Sardinia, and she had grown tired of the sunshine, beaches, and heavy pasta. Her family, too, had grown wearisome. And this spot near the timeworn city of Bath, with its Roman spas and Georgian architecture, reminded her of Hogwarts, though she wasn't sure why. The two localities certainly did not resemble each other, but she felt there was something magical about sitting under the trees and listening to the ancient river spill its secrets. Yet her primary concern was the overcast skies—she had worn a raincoat, but Margaret was more than hoping not to be left waiting in the rain. Who was _he_ to leave _her_ waiting?

After a few more minutes, Margaret closed her book, tucked it away into her magically-extended purse, and decided to explore the city. It was midmorning on a grey and humid Monday, and she had been approached by only one tourist during her time on the bench. She had also seen a few sweaty, athletic-looking Muggles running about in skin-tight clothing, a few business men taking a coffee-and-smoke break, and two mothers taking their children for a walk.

Standing, Margaret realised that she needed desperately to stretch. She had been sitting for nearly an hour ( _the prick_ , she thought tersely). Her flowy, petal-strewn dress and strappy sandals were better suited for Sardinia than summertime Somerset, but the raincoat kept the damp bench and humid air from ruining her favorite dress. She began walking toward the staircase at the end of the walkway and passed a small, flat-bottomed boat that seemed to be waiting to take tourists on an expensive, mystical journey along the river. She took one last look at the water flowing through the crescent weir and ascended a staircase that took her through to the shops of the Pulteney Bridge.

Margaret meandered through the streets of Bath for at least another hour before finding a Muggle coffee shop and walking to the other side of the River Avon. From where she stood, she could see the river and its oft-photographed weir, the boat and its bored-looking captain, and the bench where she had sat for so long. She could also see a man with reddish-brown hair and a forest-green rain button-down shirt. Richard Callaghan had finally arrived.

* * *

It was hot in London.

That was all Elaine could focus on—how unbearably hot it was. There was no breeze, no cloud cover, and no relief. While the summers of her youth passed with her frolicking in the coastal sunshine, she had spent seven long years becoming accustomed to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which was nearly always cool, cold, or freezing.

Compiling her mouse-brown hair into a fashionable side plait relieved her shoulders of some of the heat. Her hair had grown to a great length (down to about her navel), and she had become fond of the way her hair fell around her face. She had heard in Madeline's last letter that Claire, whose beautiful pale-blonde locks had always been the envy of many girls, had cut off nearly all of her hair. Shocked but curious, Elaine had considered doing the same. Such a risk! After meeting with the woman who cuts her mother's hair, she changed her mind. She had never been a risk-taker, at least when it came to her own appearance.

It was early on a Monday morning (which is why she hadn't anticipated the heat), and there were more shoppers than she had been expecting. She was to meet Madeline at Flourish and Blotts in little under half an hour. She didn't mind being early—she planned on having a look around before they went back to her house. She wanted a few more Muggle novels to read, but she was sure that she would have to find a Muggle bookstore for that sort of luxury, which meant that she would also need to exchange some of her Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts for some Muggle currency. But that was no difficult task. She would take care of it all in Cornwall. London was simply too massive and too bustling (and too hot, today) for her taste.

Elaine navigated around the cages outside of the Magical Menagerie before deciding to enter the popular Quality Quidditch Supplies store, as her boyfriend Adam had been on her mind like dew on a morning bloom. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks, but she was hoping to see him soon. He hadn't returned any of her letters, but he had also warned her that he would probably be on holiday with his family. Unlike Elaine, Adam had one year left at Hogwarts.

Thus entering the shop, Elaine looked at the Quaffles and Bludgers, each of great quality and brand-new materials. In a corner near the front of the store, there was a small lamp-sized table covered in stacks of bright green _Quidditch through the Ages_ books—a newer edition, perhaps? Though she had never played Quidditch, she was quite knowledgeable about the game and plenty interested in it—she followed the Wimbourne Wasps, as her mother was from Wimbourne and a passionate fan of her hometown team. Her edition of _Quidditch through the Ages_ had been her mother's, and she still had it sitting on her bookshelf at home.

Unfortunately, it was not much cooler in the shop than it was in the alley. In the back of the shop was where they kept the nice brooms (save the few in the windows to attract the passersby); out of curiosity and in an effort to waste a few minutes before meeting Madeline, Elaine walked to the back. Before she could reach the expensive and beautiful broom selection, she stopped—the sight before her was arresting indeed—and gawked.

Adam, the Ravenclaw sixth year she had been dating for a few months, was not on holiday with his parents, as he had led her to believe, nor was he alone in Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was standing there with a fifth-year Ravenclaw whose name Elaine did not know, and he had not yet seen her. She felt her heart beating swiftly as she stumbled backwards and out of the shop. Elaine wasn't much for confrontation, and she knew Adam well enough to know that he didn't have a sister. She was being played or replaced—either way, it hurt.

Elaine all but ran to Flourish and Blotts. She entered while trying to keep tears at bay. Though she was relieved to see that all of the copies of Hagrid's recommended _The Monster Book of Monsters_ had been sold or removed, the store was emptier than she could ever remember seeing it. Not of people—no, there were plenty of people browsing—but of books. Glancing around as quickly as possible, she saw that Madeline hadn't yet arrived. So Elaine occupied herself by spending ten minutes browsing the store. She eventually had to ask the terse witch at the front desk where the fiction section had been moved.

"What're you looking for?" the witch asked dully, looking particularly annoyed that she had been interrupted from reading the newest edition of _Witch Weekly_.

"Any _fiction_. Any _fiction_ at all," said Elaine, who crossed her arms and adopted an annoyed tone to match hers.

"Well, if we've anything like that, it'll be right there," she said, pointing vaguely at a group of bookshelves in the furthest corner of the store. Elaine forced herself to be nice—she wanted to ask if she even knew what "fiction" meant—and muttered a thanks.

Back in the corner of dusty bookshelves, Elaine spent ten more minutes searching for any books of novel proportions, but the only "fiction" she came across was a 100-year-old edition of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , which had a 35 Galleon price tag. Blanching, Elaine gently set the book down and walked away from the fiction-less corner. While browsing the rest of the store, she saw many of her old required textbooks: _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble, _The Standard Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk, _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger, _Advanced Potion Making_ by Libatius Borage, _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch, and, of course, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by the old Hogwarts Headmistress Phyllida Spore.

As Elaine admired the newest edition of the irreplaceable Herbology tome, the bell on the door rang and her roommate of seven years entered Flourish and Blotts. Before Madeline could even speak a word of greeting, Elaine grabbed her and pulled her out of the shop. They were in a much smaller alleyway before Elaine explained anything, despite Madeline's questioning.

"Now that we're in a creepy alley, will you _please_ explain what's going on?"

"Adam's here," Elaine responded, trying her best to keep her voice steady. Madeline's eyebrows contracted and her lips pursed ever so slightly. Elaine knew that look—she was mildly confused and disappointed.

"I thought he was on holiday... did he tell you?"

Elaine felt the tears threatening to fall again. " _No_."

"Oh, Elaine, I'm so sorry. Was he here... with anyone?"

Elaine watched as Madeline's face contorted into one of mild pity, and she could barely stand it, so she hugged her, letting the tears stream down her cheeks. Madeline held her roommate tight and stroked her long hair.

"Let's get out of here, alright?" said Madeline, pulling away so she could look at Elaine. She nodded, took Madeline's hand, and turned on her heel.

* * *

The Tennant sitting room was formidable, to say the very least. It had to be, what with all of the eminent meetings and secretive goings-on that the Tennant family had conducted over the past two hundred years—the ceilings were vaulted high, the walls were painted a rich navy, the furniture carved of dark cherry, and the curtains navy and gold damask. But he knew that Claire Denson was rarely intimidated, and she had been in this room a fair few times before.

"Thank you for meeting with me," said Nicolas, hoping she wouldn't mind his being straight-forward. They had said their greetings in the kitchen while the tea was prepared, and now he wanted to have a real discussion.

Claire wasn't sure why she had been called here. Nicolas Tennant was not the sort to go blabbing about his problems to anyone who would listen, and while they were good friends, they didn't have the same rapport that he did with Madeline. So while she gladly paid the visited, Claire was slightly suspicious about what it meant.

"It's a pleasure being here, as usual. The tea is excellent. I suppose I shouldn't expect any less from the Tennants?" she asked.

"It is good. I'll have to ask Mildreva what the kind is. I'm not certain."

"Mildreva is your house-elf, correct?"

Nicolas registered the formality of their banter but chose to ignore it.

"Yes. She does a great deal of shopping for us."

"Hmmm," said Claire, taking another sip of the tea. "It seems like earl grey to me. That was always my grandfather's favorite."

Claire knew that Nicolas was mildly fascinated by her Muggle heritage, but over the years he had learned how to carefully approach and discuss the topic.

"He was the Muggle Healer, right?"

Claire smiled. "The doctor, yes."

"'Doctor,'" mused Nicolas, pronouncing the word with a small smile. "Such a strange word."

"It's Latin, I believe. It's an old word."

"Ah," replied Nicolas, shaking his head and feeling foolish for being interested in Muggle words.

"Is there a reason beyond drinking tea that you've asked me to meet with you?" inquired Claire. She didn't mind the frivolous conversations, but she knew he had more on his mind. It was Nicolas Tennant—he always did.

"Thank you for reminding me—yes, there is more for us to discuss than tea." He paused for a moment, set down his mug, and remained sitting forward, his elbows pressed into the tops of his knees. "I'll get straight to it. Margaret thinks I still have feelings for Madeline, and it's completely ridiculous and annoying. I need to know how to make her stop. You lived with her for seven years—you must know what I can do."

At this, Claire sat back, chewing her inner lip and contemplating. Nicolas watched her, but her bright green eyes remained averted. Nicolas hadn't seen her in a week or two, and that had felt like far too long. Not being able to talk to Madeline or Oliver about this topic wasn't helping him cope. He had decided that he needed a different person to trust, as all of his usual outlets were biased. Nicolas had been expecting to find Claire still in pitiful shape, but leaving Hogwarts had done her good—her eyes were bright, lively, and sharp again, and she looked like she had gotten plenty of food and sleep. In short, she looked like the Claire they had all known for nearly seven years.

"Do you, Nick? Honestly?"

"Do I honestly what?"

"Still have feelings for Maddie? We can play at the conjecture game all we want—Margaret and Oliver and I—but only _you_ can know how you truly feel."

"I don't think so. I think Margo's bonkers, actually."

They both laughed.

"That—that may very well be true. But that's not the point. Is she wrong?"

"I would never… pursue Madeline."

"What if something were to happen to Oliver? What then?"

"What d'you mean by, 'What then?'"

"Would you eventually pursue Maddie again?"

" _If_ something were to happen to Oliver, Merlin forbid, I'm not sure that she would... I mean, she wouldn't want to date, would she?"

" _Nick_ ," said Claire.

"I don't know, Claire. Isn't this conjecture?"

"No, it's situational. Scenarios. If Oliver weren't in the picture, we all know you and Maddie would—"

"Would still be together?" he asked. His tone was quiet and bitter.

"Maybe that's the wrong way to think about it," said Claire, looking off again.

"You think so?"

Claire narrowed her eyes at his sarcastic tone.

"Sorry," he said, looking down at his hands.

"There's no guarantee that you could have made her happy forever; I mean, you two did fight an awful lot," said Claire.

"We were such a damn good pair, though," he said, frowning.

"Were you? Richard always said that he thought Margaret was more your speed," she said, no pain in her eyes or tone at the mention of her ex.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's just odd because she's never been jealous before."

"Margaret? She's _always_ been quick to envy."

"But what is she envying? I went to see Madeline _once_ , Claire. Once. And she... jumped to conclusions."

Claire was quiet for a few moments, and she sipped on her tea. Nicolas let her think; he could see the wheels of her brain turning.

"Alright, here's what I think you should do. You need to sit down with Margaret and talk about your expectations," she said.

"Our... expectations?"

"Yes," said Claire, nodding resolutely. "If my relationship with Richard taught me anything, it's that expectations about the future have to be defined and clear. Trelawney-crystal-ball clear. Clearer, in fact."

At that, Nicolas laughed, and Claire allowed herself a smile.

"That sounds like a terrible conversation to have."

"Yeah! Look how it turned out for me," she said, a completely false grin contorting her face. Nicolas laughed briefly and then felt the impact of her words.

"I haven't forgotten—I'd been meaning to ask. How are you? You _look_ great," he said.

"You're kind," she replied. "I'm perfectly fine. I think. Mostly."

She stared at her teacup while Nicolas gazed at her. She was chewing the inside of her cheek again.

"None of us have seen or heard from him," said Nicolas, thinking that the news was better than none. "Oliver's annoyed, but Madeline said 'good riddance' when I last spoke to her."

"Of course she did," said Claire with a light laugh. "She's tremendously loyal."

"To you," said Nicolas, laughing with her.

"To the people she loves, and to those who don't cross her or her friends."

"She's special," said Nick, shaking his head. "You both are."

"Not Margaret?"

"No, I probably could have picked up a girl like her at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or Ilvermorny. She's an ordinary witch with extraordinary legs."

"Nicolas Tennant, you're a terrible pig sometimes, I hope you know," said Claire, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

"I know. Richard was such a stand-up guy, wasn't he?"

"Richard's not a terrible _person_ , Nick, he's a _coward_. There's a difference."

"So I'm a terrible person, but at least I've got a healthy dose of that Gryffindor bravery?"

" _I didn't say that_ ," said Claire. "I said you were a bit of a pig, is all. Maddie would agree with me."

"Maddie has been saving herself for Oliver, and there's nothing you could ever say to convince me otherwise."

At this, Claire burst out laughing. Nicolas laughed too.

"Did Richard tell you about our bet?"

"No!"

"He didn't?! That's a surprise. He technically won, though he forgot to gloat about it."

"What did this bet entail?"

"Richard and I had a bet whether or not Oliver and Madeline would... _consummate_ their relationship before end of term. Richard said that Oliver was too noble for any such nonsense, and he was right."

"Well, I could have told you that," said Nicolas, grinning. "It'll take longer than a few months for those two to... figure out how things work."

"Didn't have much luck with Madeline, did you?"

"Of course not—she wasn't ever going to do anything in Hogwarts. The school means too much to her."

"I never considered that," said Claire, her eyebrows raised.

Nicolas shrugged.

"I always imagined that it was more of a… personal-space issue."

Nicolas choked on his tea.

" _Personal-space issue_?"

Claire was grinning again.

"You know how she is—just, I imagined that she wouldn't take to the idea of being smothered, alright?"

"Oh, is that the word for it? 'Smothered?' O+ for word choice."

Claire flashed a sarcastic smile his way and Nicolas shrugged again. After a few moments of silence, in which the pair looked at their mugs, Claire glanced up. Nicolas was looking thinner than she remembered, but despite that, he still seemed full of haughty audacity and misplaced energy. Claire's mind's eye conjured a picture of a sixteen-year-old Madeline and she felt a laugh bubble up from her chest.

"D'you think she didn't _want_ to have sex with you? Is that what this is really about, Nicolas?"

"Don't call me that, Claire. And… I dunno. Maybe?"

"Maddie is _such_ a nervous creature. The night after you two kissed for the first time, she nearly had a nervous breakdown."

"About what?" asked Nicolas, trying not to laugh.

"I distinctly remember her being concerned that you were too good-looking for her… oh, and she was worried about how to date a Gryffindor."

"Oof, the irony," said Nicolas playfully, clutching his chest as though she'd stabbed him.

"I can't (and won't) tell you about all of the 'talks' we had about you, Nick. It wasn't just you. I promise."

"I can't tell if you're trying to make me feel better or worse," he said.

"I don't want to cause you any pain, but it seems clear to me that Margaret is not the woman you need to be spending time with. I know—"

"She's the kind of woman my father wants by my side," Nicolas said, interrupting her. Their eyes met as he finished his sentence, and while Nicolas was looking troubled, Claire's guard went up.

"She's beautiful, and she'd make a proud and protective mother," said Claire, her eyes pulling away from his. She sat back into her seat.

"She's a pureblood," said Nicolas, his voice quiet and his tone rather sharper than he'd expected. Realising that his words had caused quite a bit of tension, Nicolas cleared his throat.

"Madeline once told me that she and I are too beautiful not to reproduce," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"She once told me the same."

Nicolas didn't know how to respond, and for a few painful minutes, they sat in silence. Nicolas couldn't think of any word to strike down Claire's defensive wall. Though they were friends, they hadn't ever spent much time alone. Claire had always spent the majority of her time with Richard—it hadn't been clear until now that she had lost in him a very close friend more than she had a lover. His chest clenching painfully, Nicolas vowed to be a better friend than the coward who had run away from her.

"I'm… sorry," he said, fumbling over the words—he rarely apologized for anything, thus surprising both Claire and himself.

"For what?"

"I'm apologizing for… calling you here under pretenses that were not one-hundred percent truthful," he said, sitting back. His knees had begun to sting.

"Margaret was not why you asked me to visit?" Claire asked, her green eyes narrowed and guarded.

"Partially, yes. But there were more reasons."

"And those reasons are…?"

Nicolas liked being honest about a great many things, and there were plenty of people who never appreciated this trait. Claire Denson was not one of those people, and Nicolas therefore found it difficult to be honest with her. His words caught in his throat and his stomach felt knotted. But he took a deep breath and persevered. Claire patiently waited.

"I wanted to check on you," he said, instantly regretting his choice of words. Claire's eyebrows contracted and she stood up.

"Check on me? Why d'you feel the need to _check on me_?"

"Claire," he said, his voice turning steady, "please sit down and let me finish speaking."

Though she was less than happy to do so, Claire sat and crossed her arms.

"It's been a while since I last saw you, and, to be honest, I _wanted_ to see you again. While this may seem hard to believe, I do care about you and enjoy your company. You're far less annoying than Margaret and you're usually easier to converse with than Madeline. You're clever and I value your opinion. I'm sorry if any of our conversation this morning has caused you pain—that was never my intention."

Nicolas watched the tension dissolve away from her as he finished his small speech. He hadn't meant to say so much, but he was tired of holding back. That was how he felt, and if she hated him for it, so be it.

"I don't understand… this all seems so…"

"Random?" Nicolas offered, nodding.

"What's going on, Nick?" she asked, her voice tender and her eyes expressing deepest concern.

"I need… someone," he said. "Someone who isn't Oliver or Maddie or Margo… someone who isn't biased or clueless or self-absorbed. I was hoping you and I could rekindle this friendship. I was hoping I could trust you."

"You can always trust me," said Claire, visibly relaxing as she rolled her eyes. "And why would our friendship need rekindling? I wasn't aware it had ever burned out."

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Holiday**

"Swimming in the ocean sounds like a terrible idea."

"No, it's lovely, really. Come now. Did you even bring a swim suit?"

"Elaine, I don't _own_ a swim suit."


	3. The Holiday

**Chapter 3: The Holiday**

"Everyone sits in the prison of his own ideas; he must burst it open, and that in his youth, and so try to test his ideas on reality."  
\- Albert Einstein

* * *

" _Merlin's beard, Maddie! Where've you been?!" shouted Elaine, who had never been more relieved to see her roommate. They'd been roomies for six long years, and after such an amount of time, you grow to either love or detest that person. Thankfully, Elaine and Madeline belonged in the former category._

" _I've been at practice with the rest of the reserve squad. It's snowing like mad but Mulroney wanted us to keep practicing. Do you think he's mad at me?"_

" _Alex Mulroney can shove his—no, no, it doesn't matter—haven't you heard?" she said, coming up to Madeline and grasping her by her shoulders._

" _No, I've not heard. What's happened now?" Her question was heavy with fear._

" _Justin Finchy-fetch—Flinch-fetcery—"_

" _Justin Finch-Fletchley, the second year?"_

" _The one that never shut up about Eton!"_

" _Yes, yes! What about him?"_

" _He's been petrified, Maddie. He and Sir Nicholas!"_

 _Madeline gasped, her hands jumping to cover her mouth. She dropped all of her Quidditch gear with many a thud and clatter._

" _Is that why no one was in the Common Room? Another Muggle-born has been petrified?"_

" _A Hufflepuff, at that!"_

" _How… how does one petrify a ghost?! That's the most bizarre thing I've ever heard! Are the other second years alright?"_

" _They're incredibly shaken._ We all are _. I won't be surprised if everyone leaves for Christmas break," said Elaine, who climbed back into her bed._

" _I wonder if they'll establish a curfew… the Gryffindor first year that was petrified was trying to sneak into the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. Surely they'll do something about it?"_

" _I suppose we'll find out after the holiday."_

" _Are people still saying it's Potter?"_

 _Elaine nodded, and Madeline rolled her eyes. Quite like everyone else in Hogwarts, Madeline had been interested in the famous boy since his arrival. Unlike many of her peers, especially the younger ones, she did not find it necessary or amusing to harass, annoy, pester, or revile him. He was 12. Granted, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was also just a child. Madeline got most of her Potter gossip from Oliver, and she knew for certain that Potter was not the "Heir of Slytherin." He spent far too much time with Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch. No Heir of Slytherin would ever have such a friend._

" _Such bollocks! I'm going to give Ernie MacMillan a good talking-to if he doesn't keep his trap shut."_

" _Well, I'm just glad you're alright. I wasn't going to get any sleep until you got back."_

 _Madeline smiled at her roommate._

" _I do appreciate your concern, but I'm more worried for Claire than myself."_

" _You are always more concerned for someone else. That's why you have me. Well, and Oliver, I suppose. But mostly me."_

* * *

"Elaine… are we in Cornwall?!"

The sound of the ocean crashing against something large and sturdy assaulted Madeline's ears. The wind, too, seemed quite angry at her for some reason or another—she was thankful for her plaited hair, as any loose hairs would have been whipped into knots. The smell of salt was so strong that Madeline could taste it.

"Maddie—gah, would you wait a moment, please? I was just about to say, 'Welcome, my dearest Madeline, to Cornwall,' but you had to go and ruin it."

"I'm sorry! Go ahead," said Madeline, grinning blindly at Elaine. The sun had not yet risen very far, and the light was damn near blinding.

"No, it's too late! You've already thoroughly ruined the moment!"

"Are you going to explain why we are standing on the side of some sea-strewn bluff, or shall I ask?"

"Well, I had expected the view to be better, but we can come back later," she said, taking Madeline's hand. "Hold on!"

After a moment of twisting through space and time (and trying not to vomit), Madeline landed next to Elaine in a quieter place—it was a garden, and a well-groomed one at that. Before Madeline could ask, Elaine raised a finger to her lips and indicated that she should make no noise.

After a few moments of listening, Madeline heard it—the sound of a man singing. Though she couldn't make out the words, the tune was uplifting. Elaine grinned and Madeline felt herself relaxing; so the pair made their way toward a small brick building that was barely visible at the end of the garden.

The garden featured dozens of blooming trees, bushes, and weeds, and it took Madeline little time to separate the magical plants from those considered to be ordinary. Elaine's extensive knowledge of Herbology never failed to disappoint her.

Within the small brick building, which seemed to be a gardening shed of some sort, was Elaine's father. His name was Bernard Ellison, but he preferred to be called Bernie. He was not very tall but quite lean, and he was sporting a Muggle-looking knee contraption—perhaps something to keep his knee cap from dislocating? Madeline wasn't sure, but she wondered if there was a spell that could heal it. Then again, fascination with Muggle items ran in Elaine's family. Though they had been quiet, the man turned to greet them as if he knew the precise moment they were to arrive.

"Hello," he said, smiling brightly. "I'm Bernie, Elaine's father. You must be Miss Madeline Palmer!"

"Indeed," she said, grinning. Madeline walked over to shake the man's hand, but he pulled her into a hug instead.

"Pa, it looks as though the ivy needs trimming again. Shall I do it?"

"No, no, your mother will want to see to it," he said, setting a bag of soil on a large wooden table. "Madeline, it truly is a pleasure seeing you here at last."

"Thanks for having me," Madeline replied. "Elaine could never stop talking about the wonders of Cornwall, so I was easily enticed to visit."

"I'm sure Scotland, too, has its wonders," he said, nodding. "But welcome, welcome. Do come in. Would the pair of you like some tea?"

"Yes, please," replied Madeline quickly.

"Pa," said Elaine, who began following her father out of the shed and into an open, flowering corridor, "Flourish and Blotts was a waste of time, you were right."

"No Muggle authors anywhere, eh?"

"Not a one!"

"They don't like selling 'Muggle rubbish' there."

"I know," said Elaine, sighing.

Madeline quietly followed them into a kitchen that smelled of lavender and cinnamon.

"You should take Madeline into town tomorrow and let her sit amongst the Muggles and watch them for a bit. I do so ever love watching them."

"We don't have to—I'm sure you'd find it terribly boring," said a blushing Elaine to Madeline.

"I'm here to relax, to forget about books and studying and Quidditch. I'm here to enjoy the sunshine and learn about new places and new things," she said, shrugging. "We have a whole week to go exploring and Muggle watching. I'll happily follow your lead."

The table at which they sat was well worn but thick and sturdy, and it looked as though it could use a good polish. Madeline found herself admiring the kitchen while Elaine's father prepared the tea; the walls were laid with brick, the floors with dark wood of some sort, and the large, bright windows flanked by pots of a tall, erect evergreen plant that Madeline thought looked similar to heather. A few of the dark green-grey nodules were blooming small, shell-colored flowers that reminded her of bell-shaped droplets of snow.

"Elaine, I'm afraid your mother drank all of the oolong."

"That's alright," she said, smiling. Madeline's eyes were drawn from the windows to Bernie, who was reaching for teacups. "Oolong was never my favorite."

"How do you take your tea, m'dear?" he asked, nodding at Madeline.

"Plain," she replied. While she hadn't told anyone of her plan, Madeline had been trying to reduce her childlike dependence on sugar. Neither her parents nor Oliver had noticed (or had said anything), but Elaine tossed her old roommate a suspicious glance.

"No sugar? Watching your figure, eh?" Bernie asked, voicing the thoughts that Elaine had seemingly been pondering. Madeline shrugged.

"I rely too much on sugar, so I'm trying to break the habit. It's a personal decision that has nothing to do with my figure or weight," she said, trying to keep her easily-defensive tone to a minimum. Elaine giggled and Madeline rolled her eyes. Even Bernie gave a slight chuckle.

" _Why_ is that so funny?"

"You're precious, that's all. You know you look great. I'm going to have to fight the boys away from you when we go swimming down off the shore."

"Swimming in the sea sounds like a terrible idea," said Madeline, who was properly horrified at the thought of submerging herself into an ocean.

"No, it's lovely, really. You did bring a swimsuit, didn't you?"

"Elaine, I don't _own_ a swimsuit."

Rather than an exaggerated gasp of horror (such as Madeline expected), Elaine shook her head, her palm smacking across her face.

"Well I suppose I know what we're doing this afternoon," she said, her face set as though this would be her greatest challenge. "We're getting you a swimsuit."

* * *

If Madeline thought swimming in an ocean sounded terrible, shopping in a Muggle swimsuit shop was the epitome of hell. There were nearly-nude women everywhere, and while Madeline recognized this as a social norm, she couldn't express anything other than fear. The store employee Elaine recruited to help them was unperturbed by Madeline's horrified face and stiff, limited movements.

"What's your name, dear?" the lady asked. Madeline had lockjaw.

"Her name is Madeline, or Maddie, as we like to call her," said Elaine, who ignored the hard glare she was receiving.

"Hello Maddie, my name is Clarisse. I'm going to take your measurements, if that's alright. Lift your arms—oh, relax, dear, no one's out to hurt you—and don't move."

After a few slow, mortifying moments of having her bust, waist, and hips measured by a tape measure that didn't seem to possess any magical qualities whatsoever, Madeline closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Well, your bust is at 85 cm—"

"Just like me!" said Elaine, who grinned and clapped her hands excitedly.

"Your waist is a 61, and your hips are at 86. Does that sound right?"

"Oh, erm, I dunno—" stammered Madeline.

Elaine and Clarisse exchanged a look in which Elaine shook her head dismissively. Madeline wanted nothing more than to leave the shop and never return.

"I'll pick a few pieces out that I think will work," said Clarisse, who turned towards the racks of brightly coloured and bejeweled swimwear items.

"I will kill you," Madeline muttered the instant that the woman walked away. "I really will. You know I will."

"Breathe, Maddie. Take a deep breath. Actually, take ten. Go on, now! _Breathe_!"

Obligingly, Madeline took a huge deep breath in through her nostrils. Her jaw was clenched, but she rolled her shoulders up and back. Taking another breath, she rolled her neck around.

 _Why am I so tense? What do I have to be scared of?_

In that moment, Clarisse came back with at least a dozen different bathing suits. Madeline sent Elaine a pleading gaze, but she was shuffled off towards a dressing room anyway.

Before she knew it, Madeline was standing in a small room with a floor-length mirror and her terrified reflection as her only company. The swimsuits were hanging next to her head on either side, but Madeline was focused on her reflection, which showed the extent of her trauma. Ashen-faced and tense, she took another deep breath and tried to relax her face first—there were lines creasing her eyebrows, lines disfiguring her lips and cheeks, and lines beneath the corners of her eyes.

"I'm right here," came Elaine's voice. "Let me know if you need help. And I want to see some of them, remember."

"Oh—OK," replied Madeline, closing her eyes. Was this necessary, truly? The few times she had been swimming, she'd been wearing a t-shirt and some old shorts, and those had worked perfectly well for… well, for her 10-year-old self. Had it been that long since she'd gone swimming with Oliver? No... she'd had a simple, sporty one-piece swimsuit for several years, but it certainly didn't fit her any longer. Staring at her reflection, and thinking longingly of how Oliver would have helped her evade this situation, Madeline released another staggered breath.

She also couldn't remember ever standing in front of a mirror that could show her entire body from head to toe.

"We don't have all day, you know! Get a move on," said Elaine. Glancing back at the locked door, Madeline sighed. She was right. She couldn't just hide in there all day. The first step involved taking off her clothes, which was more of a chore than usual. She couldn't help but feel more naked than ever—the mirror saw everything, so Madeline saw everything. It was unnerving, and in an effort to cover herself, she quickly grabbed the closest swimsuit to her. It was a two-piece of blazing royal blue that featured an intricate pattern of hot pink embroidered into the edges. Madeline immediately disliked it.

"You want to see all of them?" she asked, hoping to find some solace in Elaine's voice.

"Here, just let me in," she said. Madeline unlocked the door.

"Well, that's sort of pretty, isn't it? It makes your skin look lovely," she said, uncrossing Madeline's arms for her. "The colour is nice with your hair."

"I don't like the colours," said Madeline quietly.

"Well, then," said Elaine gently, "let's see another. I'll pop out and let you change."

After taking the royal blue one off, Madeline took up the only one-piece, which was a warm coral suit with red swirls and silver trimming. Madeline blanched—the colours were hideous, it wouldn't matter what Elaine said. She stripped it off quickly and actually looked at her options. If this was going to happen despite her protestations, it would at least be a tolerable colour. There were two more red suits, and Madeline immediately took them from the wall. Under the door, Madeline passed the four swimsuits to Elaine.

"You don't like any of these?"

"Red's not my colour," snapped Madeline. "How many times have you ever seen me wear red?"

"I've always told you that you weren't a Gryffindor for a reason," said Elaine, who took the suits without further question.

Turning to the rest, Madeline noticed a handsome forest green two-piece that had been hiding behind the bright reds. It too had a silver trimming, but in this case, it felt like an appropriate touch. She pulled it on and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The top fit more like a bra than the others, which made her feel both more secure and more covered, and the bottoms had a higher waistline than the bathing suits that claimed to be bikinis.

"Elaine?" said Madeline, her voice clearer and stronger than it had yet been. "I think I like this one."

"Really? Let me see!"

Madeline unlocked the door, but Elaine didn't come in. When she peeked around, she saw Clarisse and Elaine waiting expectantly.

"Come show us, please?" said Elaine, who was smiling encouragingly. Gathering her courage and what little dignity she felt she still had, Madeline stepped out of the dressing room.

"Yes, I thought you might like that one," said Clarisse, who was nodding knowingly.

There were more mirrors at the end of the dressing room corridor, and Madeline found herself looking at her reflection. The color was soft, which she liked, and the cut seemed to fit her toned athletic frame. She felt heat rise to her neck and cheeks—she looked… well… _good_.

"Oliver would lose his mind if he saw you right now. I might need to take you to a lingerie shop next…"

"Don't even joke about that," said Madeline, her strength of will returning. Her index finger pointed at Elaine's face, who barked a laugh. Madeline's heart began beating faster. Why was it so hot in that stupid dressing room?

"I wasn't joking, Maddie!"

"Well you ought to have been!"

"I'm certainly not. That's where we're going next."

"I'll he—hate you forever," said Madeline, catching herself before she threatened to "hex" her friend in front of a Muggle.

"Maddie, if you're sure that's the one you want, we should let someone else use the dressing room," said Elaine. "We should be moving along."

"Fine," she huffed, walking back and changing quickly. Clarisse came in after her and helped her gather the rest of the suits. After, Madeline allowed Elaine to pay for her in the Muggle currency. While it was Madeline's money, they had exchanged one for the other at a wizarding bank in Penzance.

"We are not—"

"I just want you to try a few things on, please?"

"No, Elaine, you can't just—"

"Pleeeeaassse? Claire would agree with me, you know she would."

Madeline took a moment to breathe again—she forgot how taxing Elaine's bubbly spirit could be. Yet she had five days left. Would it be easier to go with Elaine's insistent flow or to fight her the whole time?

"Fine, fine," said Madeline, who was trying to remember that she was on holiday. It was a time to relax and do things she wouldn't normally do.

Elaine squealed and, taking her hand, pulled Madeline further down the street of clothing and shoe stores. They soon came upon a lingerie store, and Madeline blanched. In the windowsills were scantily-clad mannequins in provocative poses with sequins and ribbons and bows. Madeline gulped. She'd made a huge mistake.

"Please, please… just… _don't panic_. This is supposed to be fun. You're not going to be forced to buy anything, and, just as a reminder… Oliver loves you the way you are. Clothes or no clothes."

At this, Madeline snorted and laughed—she laughed so loudly that she startled a nearby family and small kit of pigeons.

"Right," she said, wiping a few tears from the corners of her eyes. "Right. Thanks, I suppose I needed to hear that."

"D'you miss him already?"

"I've been trying not to think of him, but it _is_ difficult," said Madeline, frowning.

"Well, let's go have a look. If you don't see anything you like, we'll leave. Simple as that."

"You're not going to force me to try on some ribbons and bows?"

"No," said Elaine, shaking her head. "Like I've said, it's supposed to be fun. It's no fun if you're miserable."

"But the swimsuits—"

"Oh, that was a necessary measure. I'm sorry, but you need a swimsuit. That's just essential. How were you expecting to swim in my pool?"

"Oh, I dunno. Let's go in."

It truly was hard for Madeline to find anything she liked—everything was frilly or bow-laden, and everything looked so… complicated. Why were there straps and hooks and ribbons everywhere? Why was everything so thin and lacy? After one look around, Madeline was set to give up and leave, but she was stopped by an employee of the store. Elaine was off in the corner looking at sale items when Madeline was abruptly confronted.

"How are you today?" the woman asked, smiling. Madeline relaxed—the woman's smile reached her eyes (unlike most of the others she had seen), and she had a sweet face.

"I'm… er, well, I've never been in here before," she said, feeling that honesty might be best. "So I'm a little nervous."

After presenting the woman with a nervous laugh and smile, the woman nodded.

"Well, that's alright! My name's Alyssa. What brought you in today?"

While this response seemed rehearsed, Madeline knew it was her job to help make sales.

"My friend Elaine brought me in," she replied, pointing her out. Elaine was holding a thin, see-through turquoise piece up to her torso. "She's already made me buy a swimsuit. I think she's trying to embarrass me as much as possible."

Alyssa laughed and Madeline joined her.

"Well, we have plenty of modest pieces that I could show you. There's only one on display because they generally sell less than the others, but I could show them to you."

"Alright," said Madeline, who began following Alyssa to a different room of the shop. After a few moments of looking through the various display drawers, Alyssa had a handful of lacy lingerie items to show her.

"So this one is good for bridal activities," she said, showing her a white bustier with pink ribbons. Madeline quickly shook her head.

"No? OK, what about this one?" Alyssa asked, holding up a similarly constructed pink bustier.

"I'm not a fan of pink or bows," she said, frowning. "Sorry."

"No! No need to apologize. What about this?"

It was navy blue and lace, with no pink or bows. While it was still far from anything she'd ever worn, it was the first item she didn't hate. Madeline nodded.

"I'll try that one," she said.

Before long, Madeline was struggling with a navy corset in the lingerie dressing room. Alyssa was helping her tie it in the back (once it was on), and Elaine was watching and trying not to laugh. Madeline shot a death glare at her friend, but Alyssa assured her that this was common.

"You're neither the first nor the last to struggle with a corset," she said.

"How am I to put this on by myself?"

"You'll learn quick enough," Alyssa replied as she tightened the corset. Madeline gasped and immediately felt as though she'd been thrown into a historic romance novel.

"That looks amazing, Maddie!" said Elaine once she was all laced up. Madeline felt imprisoned, but agreed that she looked quite good. Her waist was cinched in, her breasts elevated, and her frame accentuated. But she was not comfortable.

"I think… maybe I should try one of the less complicated ones," she said, feeling guilty that Alyssa had gone through all of that for nothing. "It does look lovely, really, but I don't think I'd be able to manage that on my own."

Alyssa nodded as though she had anticipated that reaction.

"Stay here—I'll be right back."

"Wow, Maddie," said Elaine. "I do wish I had a camera."

"You should make up an excuse for us to leave," said Madeline, turning and pleading. "I just want some food. Can we leave?"

Elaine laughed, making Madeline afraid that she'd have to try on more corsets and bustiers and babydoll slips.

"Sure. I know a great place for food. Get changed," she said.

Madeline did as Elaine said. Once they apologized to Alyssa, the pair left.

"So where is this amazing place for food?" Madeline was quite ready to be looking over a menu.

"Oh, it's not in this town. Truro is my shopping city. We'll be going outside of Falmouth for our next adventure."

"Falmouth? Like the Falcons?"

"Yes, that's where the Falmouth Falcons are," said Elaine. "We need to find an empty alley."

Madeline nodded but didn't reply. They were both searching for a secluded place where they could disapparate. They had walked many blocks away from the main thoroughfare, and were finally reaching the less appealing part of the city. Though it was a sunny afternoon, the tall buildings kept them mostly in shade. After a few more minutes of walking, Elaine noticed an alleyway that looked like it could do the trick. They had already stuffed their shopping bags into their purses. No one was around, and it would only take a moment. Madeline took Elaine's hand and one last look around.

"I think we're set," said Madeline.

"Alright, hold on."

Madeline was thankful that Elaine was older and more experienced with apparating, and since she knew where they were going, it made sense for Madeline to side-along. In any case, they were both more accustomed to the feeling than they had been before.

They appeared suddenly in a bright, open alley—or was it? Madeline looked around, clutching her small cross-body purse, and noticed that they seemed to be on someone's property.

"Is that someone's house?" asked Madeline, pointing at the white side of a building that was suspiciously shaped like someone's home.

"Yes."

"Why are we standing here?" Looking around, she noticed that they there were tall hedges to their left and right, a home behind them, and an empty street ahead of them. Without a word, Elaine walked out to the street, checked for vehicles, and made her way to the right.

The paved street was lined with trees and a few more houses, and they could already smell salt water from where they were. The sun's light and heat were not impeded by clouds, and Madeline found herself thankful for the breeze coming up from the water, which she saw after a few brief minutes walking.

At the end of the street was a wonderful view of a bay, or at least part of one. There were scores of boats floating all around, some docked at the nearby pontoon. To their right was a sign that read,

welcome to the  
 **PANDORA** **INN**

Further to their right was a small parking lot and a thatched-roof inn that reminded Madeline of The Globe Theatre.

"Is that where we're eating? 'The Pandora Inn'?"

"Yes," said Elaine, who was grinning.

"I hope it's good."

"Oh, it's delicious."

It didn't take the pair long to find a picnic table for their seats, and soon they were browsing the menu and trying to decide which meal sounded the best. After ordering water to drink, both girls decided what to get: Elaine wanted the Pandora fish pie, while Madeline chose the hot-smoked salmon salad. While they waited on their food, the discussion turned to post-school life. It was a conversation topic that had not yet lost its flavour.

"Have you been bored?"

"A little, yes," said Elaine, shrugging. "That's why I need more books. I've been reading. My pa and I will start looking into jobs the week after you leave."

"That's good. Have you any idea what you might do?"

"We haven't talked much about it. He told me to take a few weeks to relax."

"Ah. My parents said something similar. But they want me to do an internship at St Andrews."

"The infirmary?"

"Yeah. It's where my mother got her start. She didn't specialise in memory loss until years later."

"Have you heard from McGonagall?"

"No, not yet. I was hoping to receive her owl before I left."

"You'll hear from her soon. She doesn't break her word," said Elaine, shrugging. "What with happened the last week of school—it's no surprise she and Dumbledore have things to attend to. They might still be dealing with the Ministry."

That thought hadn't occurred to her, and Madeline was thankful for Elaine's perspective—she was right, after all. Their last week of school had been interrupted by another appearance of the famed mass murderer, Sirius Black, the revelation of their newest professor being a werewolf, and the fact that Harry Potter had nearly been kissed by dementors (but had somehow managed to survive). Madeline still hadn't fully wrapped her mind around the events—what with Claire and Richard splitting, final exams, and the thought of leaving school forever, she'd been a bit preoccupied.

"You're probably right," said Madeline as their server arrived with their food. They thanked her and tucked in.

Madeline's salad was perfectly crisp, refreshing, and filling, and Elaine wasn't interested in speaking while she ate her fish pie, which was packed full of different seafood. Madeline was so absorbed in her meal and the scenery that she found herself truly calm—she wasn't worried about exams or Oliver or her parents or, really, anything. She took a deep breath through her nose and savored the perfectly-cooked salmon, which paired well with the salty smell of the bay air.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Madeline heard Elaine's fork clang sharply on her plate—Madeline's head shot up, her brows furrowed—and saw her friend looking panic-ridden.

"Elaine? What it is?" she asked, her right hand immediately reaching into her extendable purse and grasping her wand.

Elaine's gaze wasn't wavering from the pier, so Madeline turned around to face the bay and saw a handsome young man tying a sailboat to the pontoon.

"Who is that?"

"No one," replied Elaine quickly. Madeline relaxed and closed her purse.

"Judging by your reaction, that's definitely _someone_ ," said Madeline with a short chuckle. "Who is he?"

There was no way for Madeline to stealthily watch him, so she turned around and hardened her gaze at Elaine, and in good time. Not a minute later, he was walking toward them and greeting Elaine.

"Elaine? Hi! Erm—how've you been?"

"Hello, Andrew," she replied, smiling politely up at him. "I'm well. You're taller, I see?"

He towered over their table, but Madeline finally got a good look at him. Tall and dark-haired, much like Nicolas, but sturdy-looking too, like Oliver. It was an attractive combination, and Madeline understood why Elaine's face was bright pink.

"Perhaps a smidge," he replied, grinning. "Where are my manners? I'm Andrew Biscoe."

Madeline stood and they shook hands.

"Madeline Palmer," she said, returning the smile.

"Pleasure! May I join you?" he asked, looking at Elaine, who nodded uncomfortably.

Andrew took the seat next to Madeline, presumably so he could see Elaine properly. She'd never seen Elaine so withdrawn—she was usually flirtatious and playful. While she was no Claire or Margaret, she wasn't usually _shy_. There were a few moments of awkward quiet between them in which the sound of people chattering, silverware chinking, and vehicles moving about filled the void. If Madeline listened carefully, she could hear the water of the bay sloshing gently against the pier.

"So how d'you know each other?" asked Madeline.

"Our families," replied Andrew, looking at Madeline and, perhaps, truly seeing her for the first time. She noted the rich brown of his eyes and felt a pang in her chest that had nothing to do with the man sitting next to her. "They sort of… well…."

As his words fell away, he looked back to Elaine. There was more tension than Madeline had been expecting or could bear, so she looked between them with obvious confusion and expectation.

"Should I take a walk or something?" she asked.

"No," said Elaine, too quickly, while Andrew shook his head.

"Your father told me you might be here. I thought we could, erm, take a ride?"

"In _that_?" asked Madeline, who turned and pointed at the sailboat.

"Yes," he said, laughing, his confidence returning. Their server returned with their bills, and Andrew took them before Madeline could snatch them up. She wasn't a fan of this sort of chivalry—but he paid their tabs nonetheless.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, forcing a half-thankful, half-irritated smile.

"I wanted to."

"Thank you," said Elaine, whose voice was still quite subdued. This earned her a gentle smile from Andrew. Madeline found herself glancing between the pair of them—she was definitely missing a lot of information, but she knew that this young man, whoever he turned out to be, was in love with Elaine. She wasn't sure she'd ever been so certain about a man's feelings, which was both strange and exciting. Was she getting better at reading people?

Standing next to the sailboat, Madeline felt her stomach doing somersaults. She'd never been in a boat that wasn't magically gliding across a placid lake.

"Maddie, it's safe, I promise," said Elaine, who was smiling up at her from the sailboat. She extended her hand, but Madeline didn't dare move. Andrew was waiting for Madeline to board before he untied the ropes, so he stood watching.

"I've been sailing since I was a lad," he said, hoping to coax her into trusting him, and Elaine nodded.

"I trust him with my life, I swear it."

"I've never sailed like this before," said Madeline, looking from the boat to the water.

"We won't go far," said Andrew. "You'll see the shore at all times."

"I can stay here, it'll be fine. I'll go inside and—"

"No," said Elaine, who finally shed her shyness. "You're going to sail with us. You'll go home and tell Oliver all about how I made you go sailing and how you _loved_ it. I know for a fact that you can swim quite well. Now get in the bloody boat."

Andrew extended his hand to help her climb in and she took it. Soon they were all in and rocking away from the pontoon, and while he was busy setting up the sail, Madeline interrogated Elaine.

" _Who is he_?" she asked, using her serious voice and intense gaze.

"D'you promise not to hate me?" she whispered (as best she could above the wind).

"Of course! Why would I?"

Elaine smiled, but it dripped slowly from her face as she looked around and gathered the courage she apparently needed.

"He's… he's my intended."

"Your _what_?!" shouted Madeline. Elaine grabbed her arm and tried to calm her.

"Please, Maddie, can we talk about it later?" she asked, looking ever so pitiful.

Madeline nodded as Andrew came near them, pulling on a rope and inadvertently flexing his arm muscles as he directed the sail. Elaine looked away, leaving Madeline wondering why Elaine had kept this massive secret from her for the past _seven years_. Had she not been a trustworthy, honorable, and loyal friend? Had she not kept Elaine's secrets and honored her opinions? Had she not been a good friend?

 _No_ , thought Madeline, the heat of guilt and shame spreading through her chest. She always told Oliver or Claire everything, and rarely had she entrusted her own secret desires, pains, and issues to Elaine. Did Kendra or any of Elaine's other friends know that she was promised to someone... someone who hadn't gone to Hogwarts?

 _And what about Adam?!_ Why had she been pursuing relationships when she was betrothed?! None of it made any sense, and Madeline was altogether baffled.

"It's really a great afternoon for sailing," said Andrew, whose gaze constantly shifted from the horizon to the sky to Elaine.

Madeline was quiet for the duration of the sailing time. As promised, the shore was never out of sight. Once the wind took the sail, Andrew and Elaine began talking, and Madeline listened for a while. Their conversation revealed a lot about him—he was neither a Muggle nor a Squib, as she suspected, but rather had gone to Beauxbatons. He was a year older, and this was, she assumed by their "how have you been" discussions, the first they had seen each other since last summer, if not longer.

She spent some time trying to process Elaine's decisions, but after half an hour or so, she took to thinking about Oliver while staring at the horizon. It was no secret that her parents and Oliver's parents had hoped they would fall in love—that had been planned the instant Madeline was born and was revealed to be a girl—but to arrange a marriage between two children? It was an ancient way that Madeline did not understand.

"Madeline, hello?"

"Hm?"

"You alright? Missing Oliver already?"

A smile bloomed on her face at the mention of his name.

"I suppose so," she said. "He was quite upset with my leaving for a week, I'll have you know."

"Oliver Wood is the love of her life," said Elaine to Andrew, grinning. "Remember that name. He's going to be a famous Quidditch player one day."

"Don't go saying that around him, he'll die of embarrassment," said Madeline quickly.

At this, everyone laughed, and Andrew said, "Oliver Wood. Got it."

"Alright, sir," said Madeline, looking to Andrew. "Tell me all about your school. I'm deeply curious. I want to know everything."

"She really does," groaned Elaine. "She's not exaggerating."

Talk of their schools and Quidditch lasted them until the setting sun began bleeding into the sky. The sunset was magnificent, and they watched it from a different pier than they had started at. It was much smaller and completely empty, and all that was behind it was a very large house.

"Is that your home?" asked Madeline, who was past the point of politeness.

Andrew nodded, looking more embarrassed than she had yet seen him.

"It is," he said. "Would you like to come in for a bit?"

"Maybe another day," said Elaine. "We're already out later than I'd like."

Madeline quickly perceived a great deal of longing in Andrew's goodbye to Elaine, and he took his time in leaving. Once he began walking away, Elaine took Madeline's hand again, and they disapparated.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," said Madeline the instant they were back in her family's garden, which was dimly lit by a few twinkling lights above the shed door.

"Do I?"

"What of Adam? Why hadn't you ever told me?"

"Let me explain one thing before we go inside," said Elaine, who turned to face her old roommate in the semi-dark. "Our relationship is not like yours and Oliver's, and it likely won't ever be. We grew up together, yes, but since we were 11, we've spent most of our time apart. I spent many years hoping I'd never have to see him again. The man you met tonight is not necessarily the boy I grew up with."

"Alright," said Madeline, who nodded and felt quite humbled. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. It's… fine. I kept it a secret because I'd always hoped it wouldn't come to fruition. I spent time with Adam to see if things were better or different or... whatever. The same reason you dated Nick."

"What d'you—"

"Don't—don't argue. We can talk about it more later. Let's get inside."

Madeline silently followed Elaine back into the house, where they were greeted by Elaine's parents. Her mother was a small woman with thick blonde hair. Bernie offered to make more tea, but Elaine declined, mentioned that they were tired, and led Madeline to her bedroom.

Elaine's bedroom was exactly what Madeline could have predicted. Three of the four walls were lined to the ceiling with bookshelves. While not every bookshelf was full of books (other items and knickknacks could be found, as well), there were so many books that Madeline's jaw fell slack.

"What were you saying about needing more books?"

Elaine wasn't embarrassed.

"Well, those right there are all of my school books, those are school- _related_ books—oh! and these are Muggle nonfiction—quite fascinating, actually. These four shelves are books my parents have given me over the years. I mean, I've just never gotten rid of any of my books."

"I can see that quite plainly."

"Are you… Maddie, are you upset with me?"

"No, heavens, no. I'm just confused. I have every right to be, I think."

"You do. Get settled, make yourself at home. My bed's big enough for the two of us. I'm going to go speak with my father."

"He ratted you out, didn't he?"

"We'll see. Feel free to bathe. I don't know how long this will take."

Madeline nodded and then pulled Elaine into a hug. After Elaine left, Madeline bathed and found herself climbing into the large bed faster than she'd expected. After a few minutes of more wondering, Madeline fell asleep.

* * *

 _She couldn't make it down the stairs any faster without tripping, that much she knew. She had already taken a few stumbles, her little feet sliding on the wooden stairs and her stomach taking nauseating, tumbling dives—grasping onto the wooden rails, thinking naught of splinters, she ran as fast as she could. No one had stopped her descent, not even the three or four older students she'd passed along the way. Most of the students were concerned, but they didn't leave their seats_ _—_ _Madeline, however, was taking a few steps at a time trying to reach him._

 _She wasn't sure how long it had taken her to descend from the Hufflepuff Quidditch Tower, but by the time she'd reached solid ground, she could see Madam Pomfrey levitating him away on a stretcher. She felt a wave of nausea and up came her breakfast._

 _Professor McGonagall ran over, her game-day crimson and gold cloak flapping behind her like a giant phoenix._

" _Miss Palmer, please take a deep breath—"_

" _Is he alright?!"_

" _He's going to be just fine, I assure you," she said, her hand resting on Madeline's shoulder. Madeline was thirteen, and while she'd been around Quidditch and its injury-inducing tendencies her entire life, seeing Oliver take a Bludger to the head was more frightening than she could admit. Tears began leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She felt sick again but managed to control the urge to vomit. His team had already brought in their second-string Keeper and was preparing to play._

" _I must get back up to the stand, but—"_

" _Can I go to the Hospital Wing?_ Please _, professor?"_

" _I suppose—go, catch up to Madam Pomfrey if you can."_

 _Madeline burst into another breakneck sprint, catching up with them right outside of the huge double doors to the castle. Madam Pomfrey was not having it._

" _Miss Palmer, I do not have time for this nonsense. Go back to the Quidditch pitch this instant!"_

" _Professor McGonagall said I could come, and I'm_ not leaving him _."_

 _Without stopping to look at her, the woman shook her head and mumbled to herself. Madeline followed her through the castle all the way to the Hospital Wing. She kept quiet but remained close—Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her get a look at him, and this, more than anything, had her frightened._

 _Once they arrived, Madeline was not allowed in, and she sat facing the doors to the Hospital Wing, crying._

 _A quarter of an hour of waiting later, Madeline was approached by Sir Nicholas, the ghost of the Gryffindor House._

" _What ever is the matter, child?" he asked, looking at her imploringly._

" _My best friend's been hurt—g-got hit in the head with a bl-bludger," she replied, trying to calm herself. "She won't let me in."_

" _Well I'm sure it's all for the best. You'd be even more terribly upset, I'd imagine, if you were standing there watching Madam Pomfrey heal her."_

" _Him."_

" _I beg your pardon?"_

" _Him. His name is Oliver Wood. He's in your House."_

" _The new Gryffindor Keeper?"_

" _Yes, that's the one."_

" _He's your best friend? But you're a Hufflepuff," he said, spotting her yellow-and-black badger crest._

" _So?" asked Madeline, who had quickly forgotten her tears in exchange for defensive anger. "Why is that so strange?"_

" _There are... few inter-house relationships at this school that last any considerable amount of time."_

" _We'll be one of the few, then. It's shameful that people from different Houses can't be friends," said Madeline, who readjusted her sitting position. Her buttocks were growing numb. She didn't realise that the ghost standing above her was staring at her with burgeoning curiosity._

" _Too right you are. What is your name, my dear?"_

" _Madeline. Madeline Palmer," she said, her voice a sigh. She looked up at the pearly ghost and realised that he was smiling at her._

" _Would you like me to check on him for you?"_

" _You'd do that?!"_

" _Why, of course! I'm curious to know myself. He's a strong lad, so I'm sure she's simply letting him rest. But I'll return only when I've learned something of his condition," he said._

 _Sir Nicholas then drifted through the wall and into the Hospital Wing, leaving Madeline alone in the corridor once again._

" _And Muggles don't believe in ghosts," she said, scoffing. She stood, began pacing, and then suddenly fell through a hole in the castle floor._

* * *

Madeline awoke to a gentle sniffing noise, but she jumped like someone had shouted at her. Elaine gasped, and Madeline got a full view of her tear-stained face and red eyes. Without a word, she sat up and hugged her again, and she began crying harder. There was no time for Madeline to dwell on why she'd been dreaming about Oliver's only serious Quidditch injury, so the memory of the dream drifted away soon after she'd awakened.

"It's going to be alright, I promise," said Madeline.

"I don't know if I want to marry him, Maddie," she said through her soft sobs.

"Would it be inappropriate for me to ask why?"

Elaine lied down, took a few deep breaths, and wiped her face. After a few moments, she was calm and could speak without gasping for air.

"We'll be spending the rest of the week with him, so maybe you'll see."

"If it's any consolation, the way he looks at you is…"

"I have no doubt that he cares about me, but our foolish fathers made this arrangement before they realised how different they are. Andrew has no love for Muggles or Muggle-borns or even Muggle-loving fools like me. I do not know that even I could cure him of that."

"But he loves you."

At this, Elaine looked at Madeline with a pained expression.

"He has changed _some_ since we last spent time together. Hopefully this week I will be able to determine a course of action."

"A course of action? Not planning on running away, are you?"

She was quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking of how to best phrase her thoughts.

"My parents want us married by my next birthday," she said, her voice strained.

"But your birthday is in November!"

"I'm well aware! Not only do I need to begin planning a wedding, I need to ensure that I'd even like to marry the man."

"I don't want this to sound insensitive, so pardon my poor phrasing, but… would it matter?"

A few tears began leaking out of the corners of her eyes and her mouth twisted into a grim smile.

"No, I suppose not."

Though they could have stayed up for some time talking, Madeline decided to force Elaine to try to sleep, at the very least.

"Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow—well, today—is a new day."

* * *

The next morning, they took a walk along a nearby beach, and Andrew joined them. It didn't take long for Madeline to realise that she was a buffer—she kept them from discussing their fate; or, as Madeline imagined it, she kept Andrew from confessing his undying love and Elaine from diving headlong into the ocean.

After walking along the beach, they joined Andrew at his large, stately home for a late breakfast of crêpes. In the kitchen, there was a bar-sized seating area where Madeline and Elaine sat while Andrew began cooking.

"For the crêpes, I have strawberries, lingonberries, or blueberries," said Andrew while preparing the crêpe mixture and letting the stove heat. "Which would you ladies prefer?"

"Blueberries for me," said Elaine, who looked quite excited.

"I'll try the lingonberries. I'm sure I've never had them before," said Madeline. She was secretly hoping she hadn't made the worst choice.

"They're quite good. I think I'll join you," said Andrew. "Elaine, do you see those bottles on the table there?"

She turned and looked to where he was pointing, which was a medium-wood table with a large variety of glass bottles lying horizontally on burnished copper wine racks.

"Yes?" she said, uncertain of what he meant. "I see them."

"There are many types of wine and a few bottles of champagne. How does a Buck's Fizz sound?"

"Delicious. Would you like me to get the champagne while you keep busy, then?" asked Elaine, who was smiling at Andrew. He didn't divert his attention from the crêpes, but there was a teasing tone to her voice that made him grin.

"I'd like that, yes," he said. Elaine stood and walked over to the table, where she spent quite a few minutes looking at bottles. He was right—there were many types of wine. Andrew began whistling while he worked, and Madeline sat watching, nearly mesmerized, while he spread the crêpes and worked them into their traditional form.

"Andrew, I don't see any champagne," said Elaine a little while later.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn I brought some up," he said, glancing at her with a concerned expression. "Hm. I might have left them in the cellar. Will you go look for me?"

"Er, sure. Where's the cellar?"

"Go 'round the corner, and there's a door with a copper handle. They should be sitting on a table down there," he said, skillfully flipping another crêpe. "Just grab one."

"Alright," she said, and disappeared. A moment later, Madeline heard the sound of a door open and the creaking of a staircase. Wondering why she could hear so well, she turned towards Andrew to see that he'd removed the large pan from the stove. If he was so close to being done, why hadn't he gotten the champagne himself?

"Madeline," he said, turning towards her with earnest. "Does she hate me?"

"What?" asked Madeline, completely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"Does Elaine hate me?" he asked, repeating himself. Madeline thought for a second and began shaking her head.

"I don't think so. I think she's just scared."

" _Scared_?"

She nodded and his attractive face fell into a frown.

"You two need to talk… soon, thoroughly, and often," said Madeline just as she heard the stairs creaking again. Andrew turned to plate the crêpes and Elaine entered carrying a bottle of champagne. After serving the crêpes, he poured the drinks and they sat and ate. After one crêpe and one chute of champagne and orange juice, Madeline was feeling quite content. They each poured another drink and Andrew led them out back, where he had a pool and a garden.

It wasn't until they were there that Madeline began wondering where his parents could be. So, being Madeline, she asked.

"My parents? My father is probably working, and I think my mother is actually visiting her mother in Lourdes."

"You don't know for sure?"

"My mother told me on Saturday that she was probably making the trip, and I haven't seen her since, so I suppose she's in France."

Though surprised, Madeline didn't respond. It seemed odd to be so out-of-touch with one's parents, but then again, she barely spoke to hers when she was at school. Only then did it occur to her that he might not live with his parents… that the house they were at was, actually, _his_.

Having dated Nicolas, Madeline understood that some families had a sickening amount of disposable wealth, but seeing it in action was quite strange. She knew enough about her family's income to know that they were comfortable and not in dire need of anything but more homemade cauldron cakes and Quidditch news. Her father and Oliver's father had managed to secure World Cup tickets, and that was probably the largest purchase they'd made in a long time. With this on her mind, she changed the topic to talk of the World Cup.

That night, Madeline forced Elaine to spend some time alone with Andrew before dinner with her family—this allowed Madeline time to relax alone with her Transfiguration papers (which she refused to leave behind in Scotland) and the couple time to discuss things. Elaine returned to her room red-eyed but smiling.

"How'd it go?" asked Madeline nearly immediately.

"You were correct," she said, trying not to grin or blush.

"About?"

"Andrew does…"

"Love you?"

"Yes."

"AH!" shouted Madeline, who threw her papers to the side and pulled Elaine into a big hug. "Tell me _everything_."

* * *

The rest of the week passed in quite a similar fashion—eating delicious food, lounging by pools, and walking along beaches. She tried not to spend most of the week wondering what Oliver was doing or thinking, whether he was thinking of her or simply doing his normal summer conditioning, whether he slept alright at night or if Nicolas came to stay for a few days. Andrew liked drinking, so she found herself having a cup of wine or champagne at least once a day, but it made her slightly uncomfortable. She realised that she preferred drinking only around Oliver.

In fact, she learned a great many things, but the ache in her chest, which had started quite small, grew larger with every passing day. The nights were the worst—when she was alone with her thoughts and all was quiet, Madeline felt fear creeping into the aching spot too. She feared that her absence had caused a distance between them, that he would realise that he didn't need her after all. She feared that he wouldn't want to build a life with her, as she saw Elaine and Andrew doing.

The ache was filled with things she missed—his voice, mostly, and the way he looked at her. But she missed his smile and all its variations, his soft hair, and his arms. She missed all of him, she reasoned, but those were the things she thought of most often.

Madeline also learned that everything, whether it be tomatoes or a seashell or a new story, reminded her of him. She wondered and predicted how he would react to everything. Elaine noticed, too, towards the end, how much she missed him. Madeline tried her very best not to be pathetic about it.

On the last night, they walked along the same bluff where Madeline had first arrived, nearly blinded, in Cornwall. Elaine and Andrew were hand-in-hand, and Madeline felt the ache in her chest when she looked out at the twilit water. She would be back home tomorrow but was not yet relieved—she wouldn't be until she saw him and held him.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Adults**

"You're the most miserable git I've ever set eyes on. Get it together, man! She'll be back in less than—"


	4. Adults

**Chapter 4: Adults**

"What is this life if, full of care,  
We have no time to stand and stare."  
\- "Leisure" by William Henry Davies

* * *

There was nothing Oliver loved more than flying, they said; if he didn't have Quidditch, the poor lad would lose his mind.

But Oliver would have gladly exchanged his broom for a chance to see Madeline's bright hazel eyes and hear her voice.

He would see her again in less than twenty-four hours, he knew, but that didn't dampen the yearning fire burning in his chest. He'd not been right since the first few hours after her departure. He visited Nicolas right away, and the two friends spent five long days together. Nicolas tried to keep Oliver occupied, but it proved difficult.

He tried everything—Quidditch, window shopping for brooms, visiting training pitches, practicing cooking, reading about the playing conditions of different areas of the country, catching up on the World Cup news, and talking about their parents. Nicolas tried his best not to bring up Madeline, Margaret, Claire, Elaine, or any other woman who could be connected to Madeline in some way, but the topic was unavoidable.

It seemed odd to Nicolas that this time last year, he was the one who was heartsick because he'd gone weeks without seeing her. Weeks! And here Oliver was moping because he'd have to go six whole days. The thought unsettled his stomach. His discussion with Claire had served only to remind him that somewhere in the depth of his mind, he still associated Madeline with happiness. His relationship with Margaret was only still intact because his father expected him to have a dignified relationship with a woman of good repute.

And so, with Oliver being his best mate and all, he tried to avoid thinking and talking about her, but it was impossible. Oliver found a way to relate anything and everything back to Madeline, and on Thursday morning, when they had decided to take a swim rather than fly, Nicolas snapped. They weren't far from Oliver's home, and the water was still chilly.

"Madeline and I usually come here after a long flight—"

"Would you _shut up_ about Maddie! Please? I've been quiet all week, but I _really_ need you to _try_ to think about something else!"

Oliver stared at Nicolas, his expression blank, and Nicolas sighed, shaking his head.

"It's just gotten old—hearing you talk about her."

"Have you anything else to tell me?" Oliver asked, assuming and inferring things that Nicolas hadn't intended. While he'd been contemplating talking to Oliver all week, he'd kept his mouth shut because he knew it wouldn't be an easy discussion.

"Claire and I… well, we—"

"You and Claire _what_?"

"We just had a chat, mate, relax! But we talked about Madeline. Naturally. We all seem incapable of speaking about anyone else."

Oliver was unfazed. He crossed his burly arms, his eyes set on Nicolas.

"How to explain? You've probably already gathered this, but… I've really only stayed with Margaret because that's what I _should_ be doing. When I was with Madeline… I thought I might finally have a different path. A different life. And... I know you two were always meant to be together. That's why I broke things off: I could see it but she couldn't."

Oliver nodded. He knew all of this.

"You'll never be the only man who cares about her. I'll... leave it at that."

"Is that what you and Claire talked about? Claire convinced you that you're still in love with her?"

"She was just trying to help me figure things out, since it's damn near impossible to talk to you or Madeline about it. You both usually become angry."

"I'm not angry."

"No? So if I said that I'm still in love with her, you wouldn't be angry?" asked Nicolas.

" _Are you, Nick_? Do you honestly love her more than anything—more than your own bloody skin? Would you give _your_ life if it meant saving hers? Would you choose her happiness over yours every minute of every day, for the rest of your life? Would you endure absolutely anything for her?"

Nicolas balked. He knew that Oliver had met with a boggart in his exam and that he had likely seen Madeline being tortured. Nicolas wasn't sure what he would see if he met a boggart, and he hadn't realised the impact the exam had had on Oliver.

"Nick, you're my best mate. You are." Nicolas didn't respond. He knew where this was going. "Madeline… she's my other half. I can't picture my life without her in it. You say that you know we were always meant to be together. That's a fine thing to say, but you can't keep thinking of her as an escape from your reality if you truly understand how she and I feel."

"Oliver—"

"No, I'm not quite done," he said, standing. They had been sitting on the pier from which Oliver and Madeline had made many jumps into the loch. Nicolas stood as well.

"If you're unhappy with Margaret, end it. We've all told you that before. If the consequences from your father frighten you so much that you'd force yourself into constant misery, then perhaps you and I need to talk about some alternatives to your current living situation. I'd happily have that conversation with you."

As Oliver continued, he pictured Nicolas forcing himself on Madeline, kissing her against her will. He imagined Nicolas holding her and touching her, and he felt his blood boil.

"Even Margaret can see through you. I'm done with the awkward tension. I'm done with the slight hints at your feelings for her. The looks you give her. The way you talk to her. Visiting her in the middle of the bloody night. The kiss. It all ends _now_. You need to remove Madeline from any thoughts that result in her marrying you or bearing your children."

" _I never said I wanted that_ ," said Nicolas, his voice low and jaw clenched.

"You never needed to," said Oliver. Though he was shorter than him by a few inches, he had never been scared of getting into a fight with Nicolas, and if it meant ending the tension surrounding Madeline, he'd happily engage. "I know that's what you're thinking when you see any woman. 'Hm. Is she fit enough to keep me satisfied and can she provide me with pureblood offspring?'"

It was then that Nicolas lost control of his anger and sent a fist flying at Oliver's face; but, Oliver was anticipating such an attack, and his Quidditch reflexes proved quite useful—he dodged the punch and simply pushed Nicolas off the pier.

There was a huge splash. Oliver took a deep breath—he'd never really forgiven Nicolas for kissing Madeline. He knew now that he needed to.

The cold water hit Nicolas like a hex, and it woke him up to his own stupidity. He took his time in climbing onto the pier, wondering why Oliver still thought of Nicolas as his best friend. Oliver waited to see how Nicolas would respond, but he just sat quietly, drip-drying. Oliver eventually apologised for his last statement, and Nicolas waved his hand as though it hadn't mattered.

"I don't know what to do," said Nicolas after a while.

"Take a holiday. Clear your head."

"This was supposed to be my holiday."

"How long has it been since you've seen Margaret?" asked Oliver.

"A week or so."

Oliver nodded as though that explained everything.

"I would," said Nicolas quietly. "I would… risk everything to save her, if that's what it took. But I'd do that for you too, you know. Or Claire. And Margaret. Maybe even Richard."

"Madeline would hex you for risking your life for Richard," said Oliver. They both laughed.

"So would Claire."

"How is she?"

"Better, I suppose. Sick of being at home already."

"Aren't we all?"

"Sadly, I think so. We should all just pitch in for a huge flat in London or something."

"Let's picture that for a moment—Madeline, Claire, and Margaret living together with you and I. Just… think about that for a minute."

"Sounds like an adventure to me, mate," said Nicolas, who grinned and winked.

"Claire would never agree to move in if Margaret was there."

"Too right. That's a pity, that is."

"A pity? Why is that?"

"Because I'm sure the three of them could rule the world if they so chose," said Nicolas, laughing at how dumb his thought sounded aloud.

Oliver contemplated the thought but didn't respond. He couldn't quite understand what Nicolas meant by that—they would make a great team if they could manage to get along? Sure. Rather than contemplating or starting a conversation, Oliver dove into the water and went for a swim.

Swimming did not come as naturally to Oliver as flying, but his father had always been fond of it as a form of exercise and had forced Oliver to learn at an early age. He'd tried to convince Madeline to form a fondness for it, but she preferred running on solid ground.

Once back on the pier, Nicolas attempted another conversation.

"You're right," he said, his jaw set and his tone resolved.

"Am I?"

"Yes. It's over. Madeline's not even that attractive—"

"Oi, watch it," said Oliver, who was not amused.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows and smile broke over his face. Oliver shook his head.

"You're a git."

"I am. Truly, I am," said Nicolas. "But you're a git in love."

There was no arguing that point.

After lunch, Oliver grew more quiet and contemplative. Nicolas tried to get conversations out of him, but he rarely replied with more than one sentence. By dinner, he was so withdrawn that Nicolas contemplated leaving, but he stayed, because what else are friends for?

"Let's go fly for a bit," said Nicolas. He knew that this evening would be the worst.

The sun was slowly settling in for another evening below the mountains, and Nicolas set the book he'd been reading aside.

"I don't much feel like flying," mumbled Oliver in reply. Nicolas could have pretended to be surprised since his best mate was so renowned for his passion for Quidditch, but he knew better. Madeline meant more to him than that, and this week was the longest he'd ever gone without seeing her. Oliver was properly disturbed, and Nicolas understood, but they needed to fly. It would help clear Oliver's head, which would be the only way he would get some sleep.

"Well I don't much feel like watching you mope any longer, even if you are pretending to read. Get up and grab your broom."

Oliver tossed him a miffed glare and grudgingly stood from his bed. _He's absolutely no fight in him_ , thought Nicolas sadly as he watched. Oliver then walked over to his broom and picked it up.

"C'mon, let's go clear your head. She'll be back tomorrow. Stop thinking about it."

" _I can't_ ," he said, his jaw clenched.

"You're the most miserable git I've ever set eyes on. Get it together, man! She'll be back in less than—"

 _Pop._

"—Less than a second, apparently," said Nicolas quietly.

They both stared at the woman standing before them, almost as if they didn't recognise her. She had lighter (but still messy) hair, tanner skin, and a tangible glow about her. Nicolas was surprised to see Madeline looking so healthy, especially since it seemed like she'd been unconsciously losing weight for the past few months. Oliver was simply drinking in her presence, soaking it up like a sponge.

For three whole heartbeats, the room was completely still, and the three friends stared at each other in surprise—Madeline spared a glance for Nicolas, but then her eyes were glued to Oliver. The next second, Oliver dropped his broom, Madeline grinned, and the distance between them became nothing.

" _You're back_ ," said Oliver, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'll leave you two to it then," said Nicolas, who gathered his things and left the room. It wasn't apparent to Madeline whether he had gone downstairs or home, but she didn't care. Oliver was holding her again and nothing else really mattered.

"I'm here," she said, pulling away from his embrace just enough to look him in the eyes. "I'm here."

Oliver felt tears in his eyes and tried to dam them, but Madeline's smile and gaze softened, giving him no other care in the world. She touched his cheek and he felt her presence like the calming, healing salve that it was.

* * *

After her holiday, time passed incredibly slowly for Madeline. Even though she was happy to be spending time with Oliver again, she felt listless and lazy; not having a schedule or responsibility was more difficult, more taxing, than her busy Hogwarts schedule. Some days she'd exercise with Oliver and play Quidditch in the forest not far from their homes, but often she had nothing to do for hours at a time. She read through her old Transfiguration textbooks again, reread her notes, and spent some time practicing transfiguring things around the house. When she turned her mother's favourite wardrobe into a sheepdog, her parents finally intervened.

"You _can_ turn it back, can't you?" her mother begged, looking at the poor dog in horror.

"It was supposed to be a bearded collie, not an old English sheepdog…" said Madeline through the hand that covered her mouth. Her mother glared at her.

"Maddie, change my wardrobe back at once!"

" _Alright_ —could you hold him still? It's going to take a moment. This isn't exactly simple magic..."

Madeline rushed off to her room to find her notes, but they weren't there, so she went to the kitchen in search. When she finally found them and returned to her parents' room, her father was on the floor playing with the sheepdog. She hadn't seen him that animated since he took her to a Montrose Magpies match as a child.

Henry begged to keep the dog, swearing he would buy Olivia a new wardrobe.

"How about we get you a proper dog so that I can have my mother's wardrobe back?" asked Olivia, who was still incensed. Thankfully, Madeline had thought to take all of her belongings out before transfiguring it.

"I'm sorry, alright? I was going to change it back," said Madeline for the fourth time.

Her parents agreed and she took her time in transfiguring the dog back into a wardrobe. Once done, Madeline was satisfied with her work, but her mother was still quite upset.

"You're no longer allowed to transfigure any of our things, alright?"

"Alright," she said, nodding. Though penitent, Madeline was upset that she couldn't keep practicing—at least, not in the house.

The next day, Madeline was in the kitchen with her father when he thanked her.

"For what?" asked Madeline.

"I've… well, I've always wanted a dog. Your mother isn't fond of them, as you know."

"I'd noticed," said Madeline, smiling sadly.

"She's agreed to let me pick one out this afternoon. I contacted a Muggle breeder yesterday. She'll be alright, Maddie."

"I know. I still feel awful."

"Don't. She has her wardrobe back."

Oliver arrived a few moments later and was soon briefed on the incident.

"I don't visit for _one_ day, and this is what happens?"

"Well…" said Madeline, rubbing her arm guiltily, "if you call my practising trouble, then yes."

"Any owls?" he asked, knowing that this was why Madeline was so intent on practising.

Madeline shook her head and sighed.

"I'm beginning to think she's forgotten about me."

"You know that's not true," said Oliver. "Let's go for a walk."

They left the house and Oliver took her hand. Once they were a fair distance away, he pulled his free hand through his short brown hair and looked at Madeline.

"I need to tell you something. I should've told you sooner, but, well—here goes," he said.

"Is it about Nick?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because you spent a lot of time together last week?"

"Well, we did talk about you," said Oliver, whose tone and manner relaxed a little. "I told him that he couldn't keep harbouring feelings for you... that it had to end."

Madeline nodded, but she knew better than to interrupt.

"I don't like him visiting you in the middle of the night. I don't like the way he looks at you. I… I honestly don't know that I've ever forgiven him for kissing you."

Madeline squeezed his hand.

"I made him so angry that he tried to hit me."

"Tried?" said Madeline, smiling and raising an eyebrow.

Oliver chuckled for a moment then stopped walking and looked at her with a serious expression.

"I hope that's alright."

Madeline wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him briefly.

"Of course. I would be furious if Claire or Margaret even _tried_ to kiss you."

"Never," he said, his voice low, his arms holding her close.

"So what happened when he 'tried' to hit you?"

"I ducked and pushed him into the water," said Oliver, who chuckled.

"I bet his expression was priceless."

"It was. So if we don't see Nick for a while, that's probably why. Apparently Claire had him convinced that he still had feelings for you."

" _Claire_? Why would she convince him of that?"

"I dunno, Maddie. That's what he said."

Madeline sighed. She had no idea why her best friend would do something like that, but she was sure to find out when Claire visited.

"I'll ask her tomorrow. I'm sure there was a misunderstanding."

Oliver shrugged.

"I'm glad you had a good time with Elaine," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen you so tan."

* * *

Madeline had been more selective than usual when telling her parents and Oliver stories about her trip. Elaine explicitly asked her not to tell anyone about Andrew, so she skirted around the details and made it seem like she did more relaxing than anything—which is exactly what they wanted to hear.

She did, however, divulge the story of the swimsuit and lingerie shopping to Claire and Oliver when Claire visited for lunch.

"And she said, 'Claire would agree with me—you know she would!' Like I've never said no to you before," Madeline was saying to Claire. Oliver laughed into the cup of water he had been emptying, and he nearly choked.

"I don't remember Elaine Ellison being so… sassy," said Claire, who was also laughing.

"Well, she _was_ , and I definitely went into a lingerie store and was completely mortified," said Madeline, whose cheeks were growing pink.

"Maddie, you and I can go one day… whenever you're ready," said Claire, who smiled and winked.

"We'll see," she replied, opting to look at the mug of tea rather than Oliver or Claire. "The swimsuit lady measured me all over... so embarrassing."

"They took your measurements? How posh."

"It was, come to think of it. Most of the shops were."

This could have been the perfect tie-in to talking about her engagement to the wealthy Andrew, but Madeline was true to her word and said nothing of the couple. Neither Claire nor Oliver knew very much about Elaine, as she was never close to them.

"So will we be seeing that swimsuit anytime soon?" Oliver asked in an attempt to sound both nonchalant and charming. It was a very Nick-esque move. Claire rolled her eyes.

"Can't even ask politely, can you?" said Madeline, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I want to hear more about Elaine's friends," said Claire, who was bouncing in her seat. "I've been so bored. I want to hear everything."

"Then let's talk about your tea time with Nick," said Oliver, who sat up straighter, as though he was bracing for an argument. His tone remained light and playful, but Claire's eyes darkened as though he'd accused her of something. But after a few glances at Madeline (who smiled and tried to keep her expression mildly delighted) and Oliver, Claire conceded.

"He invited me to tea and lunch, so I visited him at his house," she said, not sounding at all defensive. "I know he's been having a rough time of it, or, at least, hasn't been feeling too well."

"Is everything alright?" asked Madeline. She hadn't spoken to Nicolas in a while and was truly curious.

"He's just… struggling, you know. The thing with Margaret is only going at all because they're both in denial," she said, shrugging. "So that's been rough."

"Nick told me that you two spoke about Madeline," said Oliver, trying to sound casual. It didn't work.

"Is _that_ what this is about?" she asked, throwing her hands up in the air. "Yes, we talked about Maddie. Don't we always?"

"Pardon?" asked Madeline. She was ignored.

"What did you tell Nick?" Oliver continued.

"I made him confront his feelings, because he'd never move on if he didn't," said Claire, her voice growing louder.

"What feelings?" cried Madeline. Despite a glance from Claire, she was again ignored.

"Oliver, you know just as well as I that he needs to get his shit together—and that he needs to do it away from her."

"I know," said Oliver.

"And that he _needs_ his relationship with Margaret to work out!" Claire continued.

"There are alternatives to his being miserable," said Oliver, looking up at her. "There are better ways for him to confront—"

"His father? Better ways for him to estrange himself? Are you serious?"

"I didn't say estrangement," said Oliver. "I just feel like he's building this stuff up with his father to be more serious than it is!"

Claire stared at Oliver with her jaw slackened.

"If he broke things off with Margaret, his father wouldn't _care_ ; he'd simply tell him to find another pureblood woman! His father probably has a list ready. There's nothing tying him to her except habit, stubbornness, and some degree of stupidity," said Oliver.

Madeline hadn't considered this, and by the expression on Claire's face, she hadn't either.

"It does feel like they're together out of habit," said Madeline, nodding. She finally had their attention. Perhaps the shouting and arguing was over.

"They won't last the rest of the year," said Oliver quietly.

"Oh, sure, Oliver, go on—act like you know everything," said Claire.

"I'm acting like I know my best mate because I _do_ ," he said, standing. He glared at Claire. "You're the one strolling in here thinking you know what's best for him. He might have confided in you once, but that doesn't mean you _know_ him."

Oliver was on the verge of leaving the room when Madeline stood.

"We've all seen different sides of Nick," she said, looking between Oliver and Claire. "We all care about him, so please—"

"Maddie, for Christ's sake, we don't need you to play peacemaker. We're adults, alright? You don't have to treat us like sodding toddlers," said Claire.

"Adults?" Madeline asked, staring at Claire with a curt, mock-surprised expression. "You think we're _adults_ just because we've left school?"

Claire didn't respond.

"We've _all_ got a lot of growing up to do," she continued, still looking straight at Claire.

"What're you saying?"

"That this drama, this pot-stirring and gossiping about Nick and Margo is childish. It's fourth-year shit. If they break up, they break up and we deal with it. If they stay together, we should be supportive. What's difficult about that? The era of meddling with other people's feelings or relationships has got to end. We're not in school anymore. If you want to be an adult, you should start acting like one."

Perhaps Claire understood that Madeline was specifically referencing Claire's constant interference in her love life while in school, perhaps not. She mostly hoped that Claire would stay out of Nicolas' and Margaret's relationship from now on.

Claire stood and left without a word. A moment later, Madeline heard a door slam shut.

Madeline fell onto the sofa, her heart heavy. She hadn't intended the conversation to be so negative, nor had she meant to sound so harsh. Oliver tried convincing her that she'd said and done the right thing, but Madeline still felt guilty. So he instead convinced her to go for a run with him.

* * *

On Sunday, Madeline found her father outside playing fetch with his new sheepdog, Hugh. The scene made her smile. The sky was dull and cloudy, and the wind was in the east. They hadn't gotten too much rain this summer, and many people across the country had been complaining.

"Maddie, dear," he said as she approached him. Panting and wagging his tail, Hugh made his way to Madeline. She scratched behind his ears and let him lick her hands.

"He's really sweet. I'm glad she let you get him."

"I think she'll come to like him," said her father, tossing the stick again. Hugh took off after it.

"Why 'Hugh'?"

"Well," he said, grinning, "I wanted to name him Argyll, but your mother refused."

At this, Madeline burst with laughter, and her father joined her. They continued laughing until Hugh started barking—he hadn't barked once since they had brought him home. They also hadn't heard anyone approaching them, and by the time Madeline looked around and saw who was there, it was too late—the tabby cat at which Hugh had been barking was swiftly changing from feline to a bespectacled older woman clad in tartan robes. The true dog, both scared and confused, ran behind Madeline's father.

"Professor," said Madeline and Henry simultaneously. The corners of McGonagall's lips twitched and Madeline couldn't help but laugh.

"Henry Palmer," said McGonagall, walking towards them. "I trust you're well?"

"Same as always. Shall I find Olivia, or would you like to come in?" he asked, patting Hugh on the head.

"Indoors, please. We have much to discuss."

Henry nodded and turned on his heel. Olivia was reading the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet in their small sitting room when Madeline found her.

"McGonagall's here," she said, poking her head around the corner. Her mother nodded, and as Madeline wound her way back to the kitchen, Olivia followed.

"Olivia," said McGonagall, smiling. "It's been many years since I've seen you or Henry."

"Yes, it has," agreed Olivia. "Madeline, please go to the Woods' and invite them over. I'm sure they would love to see you as well, Minerva."

"Walk over? But they live—"

Before Madeline could finish her sentence, her mother shot her an arresting glare. Henry placed a hand on her shoulder and led her to the front door.

"Be quick," he whispered.

"Shall I just apparate?"

"No, run. If you're back too quickly she'll know—"

"I don't care! I shouldn't be leaving in the first place—they're in there talking about _my_ future!"

"Yes. That is why you should run."

With that, he shut the door. Madeline turned, unclenched her fists, and took off running.

Breathless and flushed, Madeline arrived at the Woods' front door and burst in without knocking. The three of them were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast.

"Maddie?" said Oliver with a mouthful of tattie scone, dropping beans from his fork. Alarmed at Madeline's initial expression (for she smiled and began laughing when she saw Oliver), he stood and hurried around the table. He swallowed his food. "What's the matter?"

"McGonagall's visiting. Please come."

Oliver's parents stood, Paul grudgingly leaving his full plate, and they all followed her out. She ran again and waited patiently for them to apparate to the door. Once they were all inside, Madeline found her parents and McGonagall laughing hysterically over their cups of tea.

"And then—" said Olivia, hardly breathing, "Paul—"

At that moment, Paul and Gwen walked in, Oliver behind them, and the laughter erupted more fiercely.

"Paul—d'you remember when you were dueling Amos Diggory in sixth year and you wound up vanishing his trousers?" asked Henry, who was breathing more evenly than his wife and McGonagall.

"Poor Diggory! He took off running, but I clearly remember—"

"Those awful Wimbourne undies?" choked Olivia, whose face was red from laughing so hard. Paul and Gwen joined her, and Oliver quietly slid over to Madeline and slipped his arms around her waist. He kissed her cheek and said in a low, groggy voice a quick "g'mornin'." Trying to ignore the reaction he was igniting, Madeline smiled and turned to pour some tea.

While Madeline and Oliver stood aside, their parents began reliving memories of their time in McGonagall's noble House of Gryffindor. She tried not to think of Cedric's father running around in Wimbourne Wasp boxers; rather, her mind's eye conjured more pleasurable images of the man standing next to her, which caused her neck and cheeks to flush. Thankfully she'd been running, so the damage wasn't noticeable to anyone except Oliver, who was on the receiving end of a few meaningful glances. Once the tension between them became palpable, Oliver had to keep both hands on his mug and walk to the other side of the kitchen, but he winked at her as he moved away. Madeline rolled her eyes and tried to smother a grin.

Despite spending copious amounts of time with Oliver, she never grew tired of looking at him, and every day she found something new to appreciate about him. Yesterday afternoon it was the softness of his hair, today it was the wink that sent heat waves coursing through her. She tried to shake off those feelings and remind herself of the importance of this meeting.

"Madeline," said McGonagall after a long while, looking at her with a searching gaze. "Would you be prepared to move to St Andrews?"

" _Move_? Why? What's the matter with my living here?" she asked, immediately glancing at her parents.

"Nothing is the _matter_ ," said McGonagall tartly. "Olivia and I have come to an agreement that we believe will satisfy all parties. If you agree to move to St Andrews and train as a Healer there for six months, you will also train as my apprentice. Auror training would not begin until December, so you have just enough time to train as a Healer before pursuing other training."

"I'm confused... I can do both? How? Why?"

"In the event that you do not pass Auror training," said Olivia, frowning. "Or do not like it. This way, you will have a backup career. If you excel during your first few months at St Andrews, as I know you will, they can certify you and even transfer you to St Mungos, if you want."

Madeline was silent for many moments, and she felt the eyes of everyone on her. She gazed her nearly-empty mug, thinking as quickly as possible. _Moving_ to St Andrews and training day and night would leave little time for visiting or visitors. She'd be studying nonstop, especially while training with both McGonagall and the hospital. She tried to find comfort with Oliver, but his eyes were directed to his feet and his jaw was set, as though someone was removing barbs from his side.

"Why can't I stay here?"

"St Andrews requires their trainees to board with them," said Olivia. "If you accept their offer, you will be one of three trainees this summer."

Madeline knew that Healer training would be invaluable, especially if she was an Auror, but she had not been officially offered either training, had she? If so, the proposals had not been directly to her.

"No one will hear from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement until October or November. They do not move quickly in that department," said Paul. "Percy Weasley was just hired, but he will be working for Barty Crouch, who desperately needed an assistant."

"Oh, I bet ol' Barty has his hands full, alright," said Henry, looking at Paul with an odd gaze. Madeline ignored it and focused on the issue at hand.

"Can I sleep on it?" asked Madeline, looking between her mother and McGonagall.

"I'll need an answer before I leave for work in the morning," said Olivia.

"I'm afraid I'll need an answer before I depart," said McGonagall, looking as serious as ever. "We are not forcing your hand, Madeline. There isn't much to decide—we've successfully combined all of your expressed wishes into one plan. There are very few recently-graduated students as fortunate as you, Miss Palmer. You'd be a fool—"

"Fool, I know. A fool not to accept this 'perfect proposal'," said Madeline. She sighed and shook her head as though her parents and McGonagall would never understand. "But every offer has a price, so you'll have to excuse me for taking that into account."

When she found the courage to look at Oliver again, she noticed that he wasn't on the other side of the kitchen; no, he was steadily walking towards her and soon holding her. Their parents watched as Madeline began crying and Oliver led her into the yard where they had once kissed in the snow.

"Maddie, this is everything," he said, smiling sadly at her. "I'll not let you walk away from this offer."

"We—we might not see each other for weeks at a time," she said, nearly choking on her tears.

"Well, it's a good thing we tested our resolve when you went to Elaine's," he said, wiping her cheeks. Madeline laughed in a short, hiccupy fashion.

"This will be different," she said as she calmed herself. "This—this won't exactly have an expiration date. This won't just be six days—it'll be more like six months."

"I know," Oliver replied. Tears swam in her large, bloodshot hazel eyes, and Oliver felt his chest ache. "And this is, by all accounts, your decision."

"I'm not—not turning it down. This is what I want. But I also want you."

"You have me," said Oliver with absolutely no hesitation. "You know that."

He spent a moment wiping her cheeks with his thumbs and then kissed her slowly.

"We're stronger than this. _It's us, Maddie_. We'll make it work."

* * *

Madeline had less than a week to pack, say her goodbyes, and prepare for her new life in St Andrews. Once her mother had given and received confirmation of Madeline's acceptance, the preparation began.

First, she wrote letters to Claire, Nicolas, and Elaine. This took most of Sunday afternoon, despite how fast she could write: Claire's letter had threads of guilt and sincere admissions of remorse, and Elaine's letter was short but included an appreciation for her time in Cornwall. Nicolas' letter took multiple drafts. She had originally wanted to say something about his fight with Oliver, but soon she realised that this course of action would only cause more useless fighting; instead, she thanked him for staying with Oliver and told him, in brief, of her future plans. In each of the three letters, she invited her friends over for lunch on Friday, the day before she was to leave.

By Thursday she was all packed. That evening, she received her final reply from Nicolas, who indicated that he would be bringing Margaret. Madeline groaned and flopped onto her bed while Oliver read the letter.

"I told you this would happen," said Madeline, her words muffled by a blanket.

"It'll be fine," was his light-hearted reply.

"Will it?" she asked, sitting up and looking at him. "Claire hates Margaret, now more than ever. Nicolas secretly hates her too, it seems. Yet he still feels the need to include her in our goings-on. Why? I should have told you, but Elaine is bringing someone too. I can't tell you who—just that you don't know him."

"Elaine?"

"Yes, which means that Claire is going to be the only one without a significant other."

Though Oliver was visibly confused by the information about Elaine, he shook his head and focused on the greater issue.

"So… what are we to do? Tell Nicolas and Elaine to come alone?"

"No, no," said Madeline, sighing and shaking her head. "But I suppose I should warn Claire and give her the option of not coming."

"Claire's tough. She's going to be alright."

"I know that! I still have to warn her."

* * *

Soon it was Friday, and Madeline was sitting at the kitchen table wondering where the time had gone. Oliver was out in the yard with Hugh when Claire arrived. She was wearing a beautiful floral dress, and Madeline smiled when she saw her.

"You never replied—I wasn't sure if you would come," said Madeline quietly.

"I'm sorry," said Claire, her fists clenched. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for trying to help Nicolas. It's not my fault that he still has feelings for you."

"I know. I'm sorry about our fight. We all have a lot of growing to do, myself included."

"You were right. I was—have been—fairly immature. I thought experiencing heartbreak, leaving school, and cutting my hair made me an adult. The truth is… I'm terrified," said Claire, her voice nearing a whisper. Tears sprung to her eyes, and the two women embraced.

"We all are," said Madeline, holding her friend.

"I'm so proud of you, though," she Claire. She stepped away. "You're really doing it. I think you're the first of all of us to actually hear some good news."

A moment later, Oliver walked in with Hugh, Nicolas, and Margaret. Hugh excitedly ran through the kitchen and into the sitting room, and Nicolas was grinning at the sight of him.

"Madeline, I'd no idea you'd gotten a good ol' fashioned English sheepdog."

"Well, it was sort of an accident..."

After explaining the story of the wardrobe, Madeline was sufficiently flushed with embarrassment. Nicolas thought it was hilarious, but Margaret, who was more tan than usual, seemed politely bored. She pulled two large bottles of champagne from her purse and set them on the kitchen counter.

"So who's this person Elaine is bringing?" asked Claire.

"Yeah, Maddie, we're all curious," said Oliver.

"You haven't told _anyone_?" asked Margaret. "Oh, this will be good."

"It's not my secret to tell, Margo," said Madeline. "And you'll all find out soon enough."

"What about you, Margo? What have you been up to? Tell us about Italy," said Claire, who was, at the very least, attempting to sound sincere. "Or about your career plans."

At this, Margaret laughed.

"You're so cute—both of you. 'Career plans.' Ha!"

Claire bristled, but Madeline laughed too.

"We are, aren't we? Ha, ha! Looking forward to supporting ourselves. How adorable of us!"

Oliver and Nicolas exchanged a glance, and Margaret rolled her eyes.

"All I'm saying is that I don't have to plan. I have a job anytime I want one."

"Doing what?" asked Nicolas, as if this was the first he'd heard of any such offer.

"Working with my family. You would know if you'd gone home with me."

"You know I can't leave," he said, putting an arm around her.

"But you could stay in Scotland for a week?"

"We're not having this discussion again," said Nicolas with a falsely bright grin. Margaret pulled away from him and walked over to the kitchen counter, where Madeline had set the food.

"May I?" she asked, not looking at anyone.

"Sure," said Madeline, nodding.

After taking a bite of one of the sandwiches Madeline had prepared, Margaret turned and faced Claire. She chewed, staring thoughtfully at Claire, and swallowed her food.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. Richard says hello, and that he misses you an awful lot."

Madeline couldn't tell for sure, but it looked as though Claire's heart dropped into her stomach. Madeline had the urge to hold Claire back against attacking Margaret, but she didn't need to. Margaret continued eating.

"I wish I could say the same," replied Claire, looking away.

"He looked terrible, if it's any consolation. Thin. I'm pretty sure he'd been smoking something," she said, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

"When did you see Richard?" asked Nicolas. He and Oliver both had furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms.

"I don't remember. A few weeks ago. He asked me to meet him—he wanted to 'talk' about something. Of course it wasn't anything interesting. Just the whole, 'I messed up,' 'Claire hates me and I ruined my life' and such. Pitiful, really."

"He asked to meet _you_?" said Oliver. "Why?"

"Because I didn't ostracize him from my life," said Margaret, looking at Oliver as though he'd asked the stupidest question possible. "And... because he thought I might be willing to shag him."

The silence following this admission was broken by Claire bursting with sincere laughter. Eventually Madeline and the others joined her in laughing.

"You're _joking_!" said Claire between gasps of breath.

"Right? I was like, 'Listen, mate, you're nice and all, _buuuut_ you smell like cat piss.'"

The laughter rang so loudly that no one took notice of the popping sound down the hall, so that Elaine and Andrew walked into the kitchen, and Oliver was the first to notice them.

"Elaine!" he said happily. "Good to see you."

After all of the hugs and pleasantries, Elaine introduced everyone to Andrew.

"This is Andrew Biscoe, my... fiancé," she said, grinning and showing off a yellow-gold ring that had not been present on her left hand the last Madeline saw her.

" _Oh my God_ ," said Claire, whose eyes had grown wide.

"That _ring_ ," cried Margaret, who looked as though she might faint.

Oliver and Nicolas introduced themselves to Andrew while the girls fawned over Elaine's prenuptial glow and overlarge engagement ring. The three men gathered around the food and ate while the ladies continued to talk.

"I personally like white gold," said Margaret, "but the setting of this is absolutely gorgeous. It looks... French, I'd say."

" _C'est vrai_ ," said Andrew. "It's Pyrene. My mother is French."

"Does the idea of marriage not terrify you out of your wits?" Nicolas asked Andrew quietly.

"I'll be honest: the terrifying part is knowing that at any minute, something terrible could happen to either of us, and I wouldn't have made the most of my time on this earth with her. Elaine is the only woman I've ever wanted. I'll waste none of my time or hers trying to make perfect our circumstances."

Nicolas stared at Andrew with wide, horrified eyes, while Oliver's gaze was on Madeline.

"I do not know these other women," began Andrew, speaking slowly and deliberately, "but I came to know Madeline quite well during her brief time with us. I admire her greatly. She has given her heart to you, correct?"

He was looking directly at Oliver, who nodded. Andrew smiled and nodded knowingly.

"You are wasting your time and hers."

Oliver shook his head in disagreement.

"If our love couldn't survive without marriage, I wouldn't call it love. Time is precious, yes, but I don't feel that we are wasting our time in being unmarried."

"Well said!" cried Andrew. "Truly an excellent match you will make. I see now why she was so anxious to return to you. But mistake me not: she will be pursued by other men. Strength seeks strength, and passion seeks passion. She will continue to attract strong and passionate men."

"What're you saying?" asked Oliver.

"Simply that you have no real claim on her until she is bound by—"

"Claim? I need no _claim_ ," said Oliver, his fists clenched and his voice raised. "She isn't some—some bloody _trophy_."

His voice had attracted the attention of the women, and Madeline approached them. She placed a hand on Oliver's burly arm, but he didn't respond, as his gaze was on Andrew.

"I meant only that she will be more vulnerable to the designs of other men until she is married," said Andrew, raising his hands defensively. Simultaneously, Claire and Madeline crossed their arms and scoffed. "I didn't mean to..."

"What d'you mean by 'vulnerable,' then? D'you really think I couldn't defend myself or my feelings?" asked Madeline.

"Madeline," said Andrew, almost in a chastising manner. "You know my regard for you."

"As a _woman_ ," said Claire. "You value her as a female, not as an independent human. Otherwise you would believe, as we all do, that she is perfectly capable of protecting herself against the _designs of other men_."

Perhaps he had realised his mistake, or perhaps he knew only that he had stumbled into a corner—either way, Andrew retreated.

"I'm sorry," he said, nodding at Madeline. She nodded in return, silently accepted his apology. Oliver was not as quick to forgive and found himself still wary of Andrew.

"If someone wanted to hurt her, or any of us, a wedding ring wouldn't stop them," said Nicolas. He was reliving the memory of Madeline being attacked at Hogwarts, and fear struck his heart. She hadn't been fully capable of defending herself that day. While he knew that Madeline capable of great strength of spirit, he inwardly feared that Elaine's well-intentioned future husband was right—she would be vulnerable, but only until she learned how to duel efficiently. They all would. A light slap on the arm from Margaret brought Nicolas back to the party.

"Well, aren't we a happy bunch?" asked Margaret, smiling ironically. She was trying to break down some of the tension, but it wouldn't be that easy. She grew frustrated—this was supposed to be a party, wasn't it?

"Oh, cheer the bloody hell up!" she cried, looking around. "Elaine is engaged to a handsome man from wherever, Madeline has her career or whatever figured out, and the rest of us are supposed to be celebrating with them. Why haven't we opened the champagne?"

While they began pouring champagne into the only glasses Madeline's family owned, Oliver took her hand and led her to the sitting room. Once there, he kissed her.

"I love you," he said, holding her close. "You mean more to me than anything. He said that I wouldn't have a _claim_ on you until we're married. It made me angry."

"We won't be legally recognised as _one unit_ until we are married," she said, meeting his brown eyes with ease. "But my heart is yours. Nothing can change that."

Oliver nodded, smiling, when Madeline had another thought.

"Eventually, we'll share everything, including... y'know..."

Madeline placed her hand on his chest and watched him breathe for a few moments. Did she need to finish her thought? Surely he knew what she meant.

"I… I've been meaning to ask you about that," he said quietly, just as Nicolas walked in, his hands playfully covering his eyes.

"Now is not the time for performing deeds sexual in nature," he exclaimed, nearly walking into the wall. He bumped painfully into the coffee table and cursed in response, looking up to see Madeline and Oliver still fully clothed and standing no closer than normal.

"He's convinced that he's going to walk in on us one day," said Oliver, shaking his head. "It's not going to happen, mate. Move on."

"The presence of the hosts of this party is quite required," he said, rubbing his knee and grimacing. "You two can talk dirty later, not that you would know how."

* * *

 **Chapter 5: St Andrews**

"You're just as beautiful as your mother, you know. I'm quite fond of her."

"She's been a great role model for me," replied Madeline, who smiled to hide her discomfort.


	5. St Andrews

**Chapter 5: St Andrews**

"Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel."  
\- Socrates

* * *

Crossing her arms, Madeline glanced down at her brown leather watch. She had been sitting alone in Mr. Grantham's office for only ten minutes, but each had felt like an hour—Mr. Grantham was the Head Healer at St Andrews Hospital, and she was to meet him for the first time… if he'd ever show the hell up.

Feeling uncomfortable in a navy-blue dress her mother had insisted she wear, Madeline decided to look around. As she stood, she knocked over her mother's old-fashioned periwinkle suitcase, picked it up, and set it aside. The room contained both an office and a study, which were both surrounded by large bookshelves and several windows that allowed sunshine to filter in through sky-blue drapes. There was a large oak desk with bits of parchment scattered about, three wooden armchairs with thin, dusty green cushions, multiple bookshelves filled with stacks of tomes thicker than her skull, and a beautiful white owl that stared at Madeline as though she could not be trusted.

Drawn by the disapproving gaze of the owl, which was considerably larger than Augustus, Madeline slowly approached it.

"Hello," said Madeline, wishing she had something more productive to do. "I'm Madeline."

The owl didn't blink, but it shifted its feathers a little as though Madeline had prodded it.

"I suppose you can't tell me your name, can you?" The bird neither spoke nor moved. Madeline nodded. "Naturally."

Stepping away, Madeline moved to the study, where there were two leather sofas—each of which looked as though they'd seen better days. She had just moved to the nearest bookshelf when the door opened. Madeline spun around to meet Mr. Grantham, but she was surprised to see a young man entering instead. The white owl gave a hoot and Madeline jumped.

"Are you Madeline Palmer?" he asked. His eyes were alive with excitement.

"I am," she replied with a nod, her hand pressed to her chest, where heart was beating frantically. "Where is Mr. Grantham?"

"On his way," said the young man. "I'm Cris Campbell, the other trainee."

"Pleasure to meet you, Cris, but… are there only two of us? I was told there would be three."

"I'm afraid so. The other trainee supposedly declined the offer," said Cris, who casually reclined on one of the old leather sofas. Madeline joined him.

"Can't imagine why," she said. "How long have you been here?"

"Only a week. I've gotten settled and read a few books, but otherwise I've been quite bored," he said with a laugh. Madeline laughed with some relief.

"It's good to know I'm not behind already."

"I've discovered that St Andrews is less a hospital and more a training facility. Most of the magical community goes to St Mungo's, so here they generally receive local emergencies, transfers, and terminal cases."

"Terminal cases? Isn't there a ward for that at St. Mungo's?"

"Well, there are certain—"

At this point, the door swung open again, and a man who looked as though he could be Mr. Grantham entered. Madeline and Cris both stood to greet him. The man had a well-kept salt-and-pepper beard and matching head of hair, and he was donning a casual Muggle sports jacket rather than traditional hospital robes.

"Merlin's beard," whispered the man standing in the room. He stared straight at Madeline, and his gaze did not waver. A warm, anxious bolt pierced Madeline's chest, and she produced a feeble smile. The man took a few steps towards her, and Cris Campbell's eyes darted in her direction. Madeline took a deep breath and found the courage to speak.

"Hello, sir. Are you Mr. Grantham?"

"I am, indeed," he said, his eyes unusually bright. "And you are the spitting image of your mother, Madeline."

Madeline nodded and looked at her feet.

"Mr. Grantham, since we're both here, I was wondering if—"

"Now, now, Cris, you're getting ahead of yourself. Madam Gowling will give you all the instruction you need. Now, if you wouldn't mind, allow me to speak with Miss Palmer for a few moments, and then you may show her to Gowling Manor."

Cris glanced at Madeline, nodded, and left the room under Mr. Grantham's unflinching gaze. After the door had closed, he turned and smiled at Madeline.

"You're just as beautiful as your mother, you know. I'm quite fond of her."

"She's been a great role model for me," replied Madeline, who smiled to hide her discomfort.

"Olivia was adamant that I allow you into the program, but your reputation as an intelligent young woman has proceeded your arrival. Madam Pomfrey spoke well of your capacities."

"Did she?"

"Oh, yes," he said, waving his hand and taking a seat on the leather sofa nearest the door. "Your N.E.W.T.s were impressive. I'd heard tell that you'd signed your life away to the Ministry like your father. Clearly that's not—"

"That remains to be seen. I am quite young," said Madeline.

"Yes," said Mr. Grantham. "I'm afraid I never properly introduced myself, but I'm sure Olivia has told you much about who I am."

"I'm afraid not. I was instructed to wait here by the nice witch at the front desk."

Mr. Grantham stared at Madeline for a solid 20 seconds before blinking; indeed, Madeline felt as though she had been meeting the gaze of one of Hagrid's hippogriffs: proud and dangerous. Perhaps she had made a mistake… her mother _had_ warned her to watch her cheek.

"Yes," he said again. "I'm glad you have already met Crispin. You will make an excellent team."

"Crispin?" asked Madeline, frowning. "You mean… Cris?"

"Yes, his full name is Crispin. He prefers Cris, for obvious reasons, but I have kept you too long. He is waiting, and he will fill you in on everything that Madam Gowling forgets."

Madeline stood and retrieved her mother's suitcase, which seemed to have attracted Mr. Grantham's attention, and thanked him before leaving the room.

Crispin was leaning against the wall opposite the door, waiting, but took off along the corridor as soon as she appeared. She hurried after him, and he didn't stop until they were standing near the fireplace through which Madeline had arrived. There was a bucket of green powder on the dusty mantle, and Crispin took a handful.

"Gowling Manor," he said while standing amidst dancing green flames. He disappeared in the swirl, and Madeline followed him without hesitation.

When his face swooshed into view, Madeline exited the fireplace and found herself in a room that seemed to be a library, except that it had loads of coffee tables, squashy armchairs, and ancient leather sofas. Madeline took a deep breath of non-ashy air and dropped onto a chair.

"That was strange," said Crispin, who was looking at Madeline as though she'd sprouted wings. "I've never seen Mr. Grantham like that."

"I'd never even met him! Imagine how I felt."

"True," he replied, shrugging. "Well, I suppose I should take you to Madam Gowling."

"Who is that? And where are we? I feel like I know absolutely nothing."

"Madam Gowling oversees our training and monitors our progress. Her husband used to be the Head Healer for some years, I believe, before he passed. She owns this manor and uses it to house the trainees. There are a few house-elves that do the real work, of course, but you shouldn't ever see them."

Madeline thought of her experiences with Hilly and smiled briefly.

"I thought we would begin training today," he said, standing and moving towards one of several windows in the library. He sighed and spun around. It wasn't even 10 am on a Saturday, and Madeline had no idea what she should be doing. "Well, this is library, as you can plainly see. Your room, I believe, is down the hall from mine. I can take you there."

There was a small pop and tall, thin grey-haired woman appeared before them.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Campbell. I will show Miss Palmer to her quarters."

"How are you this morning, Madam Gowling?" asked Crispin as he gracefully bowed his head and smiled.

"Quite well, now that you're both finally here," she replied curtly. "We will return in ten minutes' time, Mr. Campbell. Follow me, Miss Palmer."

Picking up her suitcase, Madeline found herself rushing after the older woman just as she had Crispin. Why was everyone in such a hurry? Soon they were descending a flight of stairs, and Madeline was heaving her suitcase, which was constantly hitting her knees.

"Welcome to the Gowling Manor, Miss Palmer. I hope you enjoy your stay. I dine at 7, 11:30, and 6. You may join me, but you will soon find that food can be served at all hours. The house-elves will determine your preferences in three to seven days. Mr. Campbell was correct in stating that your room is three doors down from his. Here we are."

They stopped in front of plain, polished wooden door that had the name _Palmer_ embossed in silver across the top cross rail. Madam Gowling brandished her wand and indicated that Madeline should do the same.

"Miss Palmer, only the touch of your wand (or mine) can unlock this door. No one can gain entry to your room without your express approval… unless they have stolen your wand. Mind you keep it with you _at all times_."

Madeline nodded fervently and watched as the door lazily drifted open, revealing a bedroom not unlike her room at home. There was a bookshelf with rows of books, a desk stocked with parchment, quills, and ink, and an open window through which she supposed Augustus had already acquainted himself with his new quarters.

"Good. Visitors are not allowed on these premises. You may roam through town so long as you bear in mind that St Andrews is a Muggle university area. Caution should be exercised when in public, especially when speaking to Muggles. Many of them are young and irrationally curious—I do _not_ want to have to place memory spells on anyone, as I have already had to do several times. I have grown old and my patience with such matters has been spent. No visitors, no drunken squabbles, no mistreating the house-elves. I simply won't tolerate it. Mr. Grantham and I run this program; I have the authority to expel you should I decide such action is necessary.

"What else? Oh yes, you won't be seeing much of the hospital for quite some time. You'll be here, working with Mr. Campbell and myself. Once I have declared your wits ready, _then_ you will enter the hospital and begin your practical training. Mr. Campbell has begun the assigned reading, as he might have told you, but you'll catch up quickly enough… I hope."

"A-assigned reading?"

"This bookshelf here contains all the books you will need for the time being. Work from the first row down, left to right. Mr. Campbell has completed _Headaches for Healers_ and _A History of Healing, Volume 1_. If you'd set your bags down, we'll rejoin Mr. Campbell upstairs."

Partially because she didn't fully understand how she was to be trained or what she was even to be doing, Madeline felt her stomach fluttering nervously. She had forgotten what it was like to be somewhere unfamiliar: seven years in the same school with the same people had not _really_ prepared her at all for the outside world, where she would have to interact with new, strange, and different people every day.

Madeline was not, however, taken aback by Madam Gowling's strict and forward attitude. It appeared to her that several trainees had taken advantage of the freedoms given to them, and Madeline was not surprised in the least to hear that the poor old woman had grown sick of it.

"You're a quiet one," said Madam Gowling as they walked back to the library. Madeline shrugged.

"I'm nervous, I suppose," said Madeline. "It makes sense that we have to prove our aptitude for comprehending information before we're allowed to work through the practical training, but I thought it would be different."

"More like Hogwarts, perhaps?"

"I suppose."

"If you're here to learn, Miss Palmer, you've come to the right place. If you are still nervous in a fortnight, come to me, and we will discuss your options."

Back in the library, Crispin seemed to be continuing the assigned reading, making Madeline even more anxious to begin. He stood and smiled as they entered, leaving Madeline to wonder whether this was a sign of respect for Madam Gowling or whether he was eager to do something other than sit in a library and memorize old books.

"As you both well know, this program was created for the training of Healers and Mediwizards; in the past, several trainees have failed or been expelled for improper conduct. We occasionally have honored guests stay here in the Manor, and it would be wise for you to treat such visitors with respect. Also, I feel it necessary to remind the both of you that personal visitors are not allowed—you are to bring no outsider into the Manor or you will be promptly expelled from this training program."

At this juncture, Madeline glanced at Crispin and could not read past his expression of practiced polite interest, but she stifled a laugh, for she knew it well—it was the same expression Nicolas wore when speaking with most of the professors at Hogwarts.

"I would like to see you both at supper at 6 pm sharp. Miss Palmer, you and I will discuss _Headaches for Healers_ at that time. I would like to discuss _A History of Healing, Volumes 1 & 2_ with the both of you on Monday evening. So, Miss Palmer, please do your best, dear."

Nodding again, Madeline felt another flutter of nerves in her stomach. Crispin thanked Madam Gowling and gave her a short bow as she took her leave. Once she had exited the library, Crispin fell onto a sofa with a sigh.

Madeline sat across from him, her mind wholly occupied with her new situation. So she would be reading and discussing the assigned books, probably in-depth, with Madam Gowling during meals. That wouldn't be too hard—she did a great deal of reading in her spare time, and seven years of schooling hadn't been for nothing.

 _No visitors._

This was far and away the worst news she'd received all day. She couldn't invite anyone to visit her, and neither Oliver nor Claire could ever see where she lived. She would have to write them tonight and break the news to them.

All-in-all, as she found her way back to her room to start reading _Headaches for Healers_ , Madeline's spirits seemed to be at the bottom of the cauldron.

* * *

It did not take the house-elves three to seven days to discover Madeline's favorite foods, mostly because all of the food presented to her was absolutely delicious. She liked to spend the early mornings alone in the dining area, drinking the finest tea she'd ever had and wishing she could meet the chefs of her new abode.

Alone with a scrumptious variety of warm scones before 7 am was also when Madeline found herself most suited to reviewing the notes she had made the previous night, and it proved to be a productive schedule. Madam Gowling, at each of her appointed dining times, would discuss their readings with them with a ferocious penchant for precision and perfection. She was not looking for approximate dates, and she didn't hold with words and phrases such as "perhaps" or "maybe" or "I think it might be." And while Madeline had been surprised by such attentiveness to exactness, it hadn't taken her long to adjust. Mr. Campbell, however, had not the mind (or attitude?) for memorizing exact dates and names and places, and meals were sometimes painful to witness.

Madeline soon learned that Crispin had been sent to Beauxbatons because his parents hadn't been overly fond of Dumbledore, and after several conversations discovered that he and Nicolas had known each other in their youth. Crispin also knew Andrew Biscoe, Elaine's fiancé, very well, as they had spent many years in school together.

Her letters to Claire and Oliver never captured the extent of feelings, either, and being away from them was more irritating than she'd imagined. She was accustomed to having discussions about schoolwork with Claire; instead, she was stuck with Crispin, who, despite his apparent intelligence, did not care to memorize every minute detail of their readings—Madeline surpassed his reading level by Wednesday of the first week. By the second week, Madam Gowling was mildly irritated by his inferior level of devotion to their work. By the third, he was sent to have a discussion with Mr. Grantham, and came back with an intensified focus.

It was in the third week, however, that Madeline received letters from Oliver and Claire about the World Cup, and she had to explain to Madam Gowling that she would be gone for the weekend. Thankfully the conversation took place without Crispin, to whom Madeline had not grown attached, and Madam Gowling found Madeline's progress sufficient enough to allow her to attend what she described as a "family event."

"Your parents are fond of Quidditch, are they not?" asked Madam Gowling.

"Oh, yes, quite. They're desperate for me to attend," replied Madeline.

It was understood, then, that Madeline would be home for the weekend of the World Cup, and Crispin found out only when Madam Gowling mentioned it at dinner the night before Madeline was to return home and see her family, Oliver, and Claire for the first time in weeks.

"You're getting the weekend off?" he asked, his head swiveling between an unconcerned Madam Gowling and Madeline.

"I'm taking _Advanced Theoretical Healing Practices, Volume 2_ with me," she said, shrugging. He was still working through Volume 1, and Madam Gowling immediately began quizzing Crispin about it, leaving him in a rather foul mood.

But Madeline didn't care—she was going to be able to see her friends and family again, and that was all that mattered. Claire was to spend the night with her before the day of the match so that they could get an early start, and they were to be camping right next to the Wood's tent. She was so excited and nervous about seeing Oliver that she slept only three hours that night, and by the time the next morning dawned, she was packed and ready to go home.

* * *

Three weeks without having seen Madeline might have killed Oliver had it not been for his intense focus on training for try-out sessions with any number of Quidditch teams. He had, as Madeline liked to remind him, been preparing for such an occurrence his entire life; and while she was away, he had been sent several try-out offers. He hadn't told Madeline via owl because he wanted to tell her in person. He knew he would see her for the World Cup, so he did not fret over trying to find a way to break the news with parchment and ink.

But the hours between his success and her return were long and felt empty. He continued training, doing some light reading, and fighting his desire to apparate to St Andrews. The evening before she was to arrive, he hardly slept. He kept tossing and turning like the butterflies in his stomach, and a foolish grin would spread his lips every time he thought about how she would react to his excellent news.

When the sun arose in a spectacular display of fiery orange and burnt salmon, Oliver got out of bed and walked down to the loch, where he dove in and began swimming. The water was warmer than it had yet been this summer, but the loch was still comprised of melted snow, so it would never be like bathwater. This did not bother Oliver. He was accustomed to the cold and preferred a nice chill to awaken his senses.

He never kept track of how far or fast he swam—records didn't matter in the water, where he could swim until he was tired, tread water or float for a bit, and then swim back to the coast or pier. Oliver often swam until he was too exhausted to do anything but stagger home, especially in the early mornings. It always felt so refreshing to dive into the chilly water and feel his muscles contract, loosen, and then slowly tire. Waking up was best accomplished this way, in his opinion—all he had to focus on was not swimming into any Muggle boats or the occasional water fowl. The rest was muscle memory.

The morning of Madeline's arrival, Oliver had a great deal of nervous energy and therefore swam for quite a long time. He expected her to arrive around mid-morning, as she said in her letter, in time for a bit of food and catching up with her family. Claire would arrive around lunch and they would get to spend the afternoon together. Though he hadn't said anything to rebuke her, Oliver wasn't pleased with this plan. He jealously and selfishly wished she had planned on spending some—any—time alone with him before heading back to St Andrews—they would be surrounded by family and friends the entire time she was visiting. That part of her plan was entirely disappointing. Couldn't they have an hour or two alone?

On his swim back to the pier that morning he was thinking of nothing but her and how he would break the news to her, and he had swum to the absolute edge of his strength. He was breathing hard and swimming slowly—just a few more meters, and he'd be able to lie down and rest.

As Oliver pulled himself up onto the pier, groaning a little at the effort of exerting the last of his strength, he looked up, and what he saw made his limbs waiver.

"Maddie?"

His breathless voice sounded strange to his own ears, but Madeline didn't seem to notice. She stood—she had been sitting, waiting for him, it seemed—and the relieved expression on her face told him everything he needed to know. He was dripping wet and shirtless, and the humid air was embracing them like woolen jumpers, but Madeline didn't care, so he didn't either. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her tight around her middle.

"I didn't think you'd be here until later."

"I couldn't wait any longer," she said, her words muffled as she kissed his chest and neck. This wasn't satisfactory, however, and he leaned down and claimed her lips with his.

It took them quite some time to regain their senses, but not before Oliver lifted her up into his arms (which now felt perfectly strong, of course) and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Feeling her hands rove through his hair nearly drove him mad.

"I've missed you," she said a little while later. Her voice was so full of emotion that Oliver felt like she'd melted something in his chest, and her expression matched—her eyebrows were knitted as though she couldn't comprehend her own feelings, her hazel eyes were bright and glassy, and her lips were pressed together as though fighting her tears.

His expression began mirroring hers—he hadn't realised how tender his heart was in her hands, and now he felt his eyes grow wet too.

"Maddie," he said and began laughing. She joined him, and he set her back on the pier.

"Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm not laughing _at_ you! I'm… laughing at… us?"

"Us? What's wrong with us?" she asked.

"Nothing! We're just… you're perfect, and I've missed you a great deal more than I realised, is all."

He paused for a minute, taking in the soft edges of her lovely face, and found his chest feeling quite tight and warm.

"I love you," he said, pulling her close.

"And I you."

"I have something important to tell you."

"Go on, then," she said, kissing him again.

"While you were gone, I was sent... several letters," he said, taking a long pause in order to watch her expression as he spoke. She raised her eyebrows but did nothing else. "Letters that were important in nature but rather shorter in length than I expected."

"Oliver," she said, shaking her head but smiling despite her apparent impatience.

"And I wanted to write to you, to tell you about these letters and the responses I wrote, but I couldn't find the proper phrasing."

"Oliver, dear, just tell me, please."

"Oh, would you be interested in the contents of these letters?" he asked, smiling a coy smile. She gave him an impatient look and he grinned. "Or their senders?"

"Oliver Wood, so help me, I _will_ hex you—"

"I had four tryouts while you were gone," he said, lowering his voice, watching her expression. Her eyes were as lively as usual, bright and keen, but she bit her lip (in a way he found to be terribly attractive) because she knew better than to get her hopes up with such little information. His chest tightened again.

"Falmouth was first," he began, trying to ignore her lips. "The manager was actually—"

"Falmouth? _Falmouth_?!" she cried. "What the bloody—"

"Maddie, please," he said, interrupting her. "Falmouth was the first to send me a letter. The manager, a man by the name of Vox, was really great. Their whole team was encouraging and patient and kind."

Maddie nodded, refusing to interrupt again at this point.

"Next was Tutshill."

"What?!"

"Yes, I tried for the Tornados. They seemed more interested than Falmouth in the letter, and they were awful."

"Awful? How?"

"High-brow, like. Ignored me the entire morning. The captain was the only one who spoke to me. It was a joke."

Madeline's face twisted with disgust, and Oliver continued.

"The third letter I received was… it was from Montrose, Maddie."

" _I knew it_!"

"Yes, you knew. Dad was incredibly impressed, and mum cried. And they were great, really, but after playing with Puddlemere, I couldn't—"

"WAS THE LAST LETTER FROM PUDDLEMERE OLIVER WOOD ARE YOU JOKING?!"

Before he could respond, Madeline jumped into his arms and kissed him hard. And when she finally relented, they were both grinning. Madeline jumped up and down, arms flailing, and squealed like she'd never heard better news.

"I'M SO EXCITED I CAN'T CALM DOWN YOU'RE GOING TO PLAY FOR PUDDLEMERE OLIVER BLOODY HELL!"

"It's only the reserve team, Maddie," he said, grinning despite his words. Her reaction was better than he could have predicted.

"Oliver Wood, you know just as well that getting started on a reserve team—"

"Montrose asked me to play for them. Now. Not reserve."

"Oh," said Madeline, who immediately sobered. "But—wha—have you decided already? Have you… you know, chosen?"

Oliver nodded. Though it seemed a touch foolish to choose a reserve team over a first-string position, he had _always_ wanted to play for Puddlemere. It was his childhood dream, perhaps even his first true desire. Above all, though, he knew Madeline would be supportive no matter which path he followed.

"I have. I've chosen Puddlemere."

This was cause enough for celebration, and they spent their hour alone together making up for lost time.

* * *

When Claire arrived around lunch and the news was shared, Claire rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Of course you did. Honestly, is anyone surprised?"

Claire had news of her own. After passing an extensive interview process, she was offered a position at the largest wizarding library in the country, which was located in London.

"I'll just be starting off as a Library Assistant, but there are loads of positions and opportunities to move up," said Claire. "My parents aren't excited. They still want me to go to university and become a professor like them."

The three teenagers spent the afternoon in the forest were Madeline and Oliver grew up playing Quidditch, pretending to be adventurers, and exploring. Madeline's favourite spot was near the northeastern edge, closer to the mountains, where a waterfall of snowmelt collected into a crystal-clear pool. They hiked up to this area to show Claire, and they all enjoyed the time outside in the warm summer air. It gave them time to thoroughly discuss their current lives, especially Madeline, who could finally express her feelings about Crispin, Mr. Grantham, and Madam Gowling. Claire was planning on moving out after she could secure a few paychecks, and Oliver told them that Nicolas and Margaret were still planning on moving in together… eventually.

"At first," said Claire on their hike back, "I really thought Nicolas and Margaret were a good match. But something about them seems perpetually unsettled."

"It's because Nicolas isn't ready to be tied down," said Oliver. "He has no idea what he wants."

Oliver and Claire exchanged a glance that Madeline missed while she was looking a particularly beautiful green bird with brown and yellow plumage, and the conversation moved from Nicolas to Margaret.

"I do wonder what Margaret will do with her life," said Madeline. "She's smarter than she lets on, as a rule, but to what kind of work would that lead? I know she doesn't have to work to support herself, but how will she avoid boredom? She won't have any kind of independence or freedom if others are always supporting her."

"I'm not sure that she knows or cares," replied Claire. As neither Madeline nor Oliver could refute her, the topic changed again.

That night, after Oliver had left and the girls were comfortably snuggled under blankets, they continued to talk. Claire had always been afraid of disappointing her parents, and now she felt like she would never exceed—nay, meet, even—their expectations. But she couldn't apply to a university with a docket full of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Claire cried and for a little while Madeline didn't do anything except hug her friend.

"You know what you should do?" said Madeline a little while later. "You should owl Professor Flitwick."

"What?!"

"You heard me. Owl Flitwick. Tell him about your parents and your new job and—no, Claire, please—just think about it. Our professors know more about the opportunities out there than we do. I really think he would help. He was very fond of you."

"He was fond of Richard," said Claire bitterly. "And Penny."

"Claire, he once told me that he couldn't justify having favourite students, but that if he could, it would be you and Hermione Granger."

At this, Claire burst with laughter and was shaking so hard that she had to clutch her side, for it had begun aching.

"Hermione Granger—everyone's favourite pupil."

"He really told me that! I wasn't joking," said Madeline.

"It's a shame that Nicolas loved Charms so much and yet still wasn't top of the class," said Claire, shaking her head thoughtfully.

"He did well, though. We all did."

"I'll think about owling him, Maddie. It's not… a terrible idea. It's just terrifying."

"I know," said Madeline. "I know."

The next morning, Oliver (who hardly slept for excitement) woke the girls up well before the sun had risen. Once breakfast had been devoured, Paul and Henry each took their wives to their campsite via Side-Along Apparition. Paul took Oliver next, and then Henry, Madeline, and Claire went along. They all arrived in time for the sun to begin rising over what appeared to be a bit of dew-spotted moor. Their campsites, marked with small signs that read "Wood" and "Palmer," were right next to one another.

"Remember what I said at breakfast, you lot," said Paul Wood as he put a sports coat over the bright red polo shirt he'd chosen. "No magic. We'll try to set the tents up by hand. We've already eaten, but we'll make a fire for lunch, so we'll need firewood and water for tea."

All around them were tents that had already been set up, their owners apparently still asleep. Though there were Ministry officials and others around monitoring the campground, the morning was quiet. The sunlight was lazily drifting in through the mist of the moor, and Madeline tucked her arms inside her jumper and hugged herself until Oliver pulled her into his warm arms.

"Why don't you three look for the tap—it should be in the far corner that way—while we finish setting up the tents?" asked Paul. Oliver nodded at his father while Madeline snuggled next to his chest.

"C'mon, Maddie," he said, and the three of them began walking in the direction that Mr. Wood had pointed.

Though nearly everyone was still asleep, seeing all of the different tents and campsites and decorations was interesting. They recognised several foreign flags, including Australian, American, Russian, Brazilian, Japanese, and more—it appeared that the whole wizarding world had turned out for the match between Ireland and Bulgaria.

It didn't take long to find the tap and fill up four buckets full of water. There wasn't a line, so they were able to sneakily conjure as many buckets as they could cover.

"Oliver, do we really need this much? You don't have to carry two buckets," said Claire, looking at Oliver with confusion.

"We'll need to put the fire out, won't we? And cook things? And have some left over for tea?" he asked, looking to Madeline for support.

"Sure," she replied, trying and failing to hide her amused grin.

As the trio trudged back laden with water, people were waking up and starting on breakfast. There were a few small children riding around on toy broomsticks, reminding Madeline of Oliver and herself as kids, but the Ministry officials put a stop to it rather quickly. She supposed that the Muggles running the campground were becoming suspicious of all of the abnormal activity.

Back at the campsite, the tents were up and everyone was in good spirits. Henry had collected a bit of firewood from the woods near the campground and had started a fire before the trio returned.

As the day wore on, more and more groups of people arrived, some in larger numbers than Madeline expected. Eventually it was entertaining enough to sit and watch all of the strange and different people wandering around the campsite. Paul told them that they weren't far from the pitch, which was right on the other side of the woods, but they were dead in the middle of all of the action. This allowed everyone to see friends and colleagues, especially Henry, Paul, Olivia, and Gwen. There were Ministry folks running around all day, and those who weren't working would happily discuss the anticipation of the match.

Even Claire, Madeline, and Oliver saw many of their friends. Cedric stopped by briefly to congratulate Madeline for starting her Healer training, and upon hearing Oliver's news as well, looked absolutely flabbergasted.

"That's incredible!" he cried, wringing Oliver's hand. He gazed at the pair of them brightly, his happiness clearly mingling with something like jealousy. "Well, I'd better be off. Good to see you!"

He waved as he trotted off, and Claire snickered.

"He's still got it for you, Maddie, the poor dear," said Claire.

"Nah," said Madeline brightly. "He's just too good and pure for this world, s'all."

Elaine and Andrew stopped by for a short while, and, later, Nicolas and Margaret joined them for some tea. When Claire grew tired of Margaret, she pleaded with Madeline to go walk around for a bit. So Madeline and Claire wandered off, leaving Oliver and the parents to entertain Nicolas and Margaret; Madeline's parents were more interested in Nicolas than they let on, and Oliver was keen to talk to him, so no real harm was done, nor any injury felt.

They eventually made their way closer to the forest, and as they did so, Madeline saw a campsite with several tall redheads.

The sight of Arthur Weasley and six of his seven ginger children (Ron was missing, she noticed, and probably had Harry Potter with him) together at one campsite was enough to startle anyone. Bill Weasley was the first to notice the two women walking towards their campsite, and he turned and prodded Charlie in the back. Soon all of the Weasley men and Ginny were facing their direction. Once they were closer, Madeline and Claire were hailed by Fred and George. She noticed also that there were two tents rather than one. Perhaps Hermione was with them too?

"Oi, George, look who it is! Madeline Palmer and the _beautiful_ Claire Denson," said Fred, who stood and bowed ceremoniously.

"Welcome to our campsite, ladies," said George, who also bowed.

"Care for a cuppa?"

"We've already had two or three, thanks," said Claire, who was grinning and trying to ignore her blushing cheeks.

Madeline and Claire were then introduced to Arthur Weasley ("Ah, yes, Olivia Palmer once helped Molly's brother Fabian with his memory after an accident!") and his older son Bill before the twins managed to notice something strange about them.

"Madeline," said Fred, looking at her suspiciously, "is it just me, or are you missing a rather large, Quidditch-loving appendage?"

"If you're referring to Oliver, he's back at the campsite with their parents," said Claire. "He wouldn't miss the World Cup in Britain if his life depended on it."

At this, while others were laughing, Percy and Charlie Weasley both stood to greet them.

"Pleasure seeing you again, Madeline. Claire," said Percy. He straightened his glasses, gazing at them with a dignified air, and shook both of Madeline's hands.

"Percy," said Madeline, nodding and holding back her own laughter. "I see you're well."

"Quite, quite," he said, nodding in response. "I've heard you're in training to become a Healer, like you've always hoped."

"Indeed. It's been quite horrendous," she said, her mask slipping into a grin.

"And Oliver?"

"He has his own good news, should you feel inclined to ask him," said Madeline. "It's not my information to share."

"Did he make Puddlemere?" asked George, who was suddenly quite serious, and Fred and Percy and Charlie all gazed at her intently.

Madeline shrugged nonchalantly but couldn't hide her smile.

"You'll have to ask him, won't you?"

"Maddie _Mae_ , be reasonable," said Fred as he threw an arm over her shoulders. "You can tell us."

"And you can ask him yourselves like the wonderful friends you all are."

"Wait," said Charlie, who moved forward. He was burlier and tanner than she remembered, built similarly to Oliver, and his arms looked as though they'd seen several burns and massive scrapes. Madeline thought she'd seen his eyes lingering on Claire but didn't stop to consider it. "Are you and Wood finally together?"

"Hello, Charlie," said Madeline curtly. Fred dropped his arm. "What d'you mean by 'finally together'?"

"Oh, er, forget I said anything," he said, waving his hand and dismissing his own question.

"Like hell they are!" cried Fred. "I can't even count all the places George and I caught them snogging this past term."

Madeline felt her neck and face grow warm, and she glared at Fred with a look that made him grin. George, however, started counting, much to her embarrassment.

"Let's see... captain's office, Gryffindor Common Room—"

"George, would you _desist_?" said Percy, for whom Madeline suddenly felt a rush of affection. Unfortunately, they ignored him, as per usual.

"Multiple random corridors, that one unused classroom next to McGonagall's..." said Fred.

"We get the point," said Bill with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh and that one secret corridor behind the tapestry of—"

"How on earth could you've seen us _THERE_?" cried Madeline. Madeline's face had gone from a mild blush to full-on scarlet horror.

"It's not exactly like you'd've noticed us," said Fred with a wicked grin. "You were both a bit... preoccupied."

"What they mean is, yes, they've finally realised their undying love for each other," said Claire in a low voice to Charlie.

Charlie laughed and smiled at Claire appreciatively.

"Alright, alright," said Claire in a loud voice, threading her arm through Madeline's. "Stuff it, twins. You wouldn't've said any of that if Oliver were here."

"Wouldn't count on it," muttered Percy.

"Well, I'm happy for you and Wood," said Charlie, interrupting Fred's response. "And I do hope he managed to make a Quidditch team. He deserves it."

Madeline couldn't think of a response, so she smiled and nodded. She was still very warm in the face.

"Well," said Claire after a few moments, "this has been sufficiently embarrassing. If you'd like to take the mickey out of Oliver to his face, we're a few metres that way. See you lot later."

Claire then led Madeline away from the Weasley campsite. Back at the Wood/Palmer campsite, Madeline and Claire relayed their conversation with the Weasley boys to Oliver, who laughed accordingly and made Madeline an official bearer of his success. He also pulled Madeline close when Claire relayed her thorough embarrassment.

"How could they've seen us all those places?" she whispered, looking at Oliver with a horrified expression.

"I doesn't matter, Maddie," he said, smiling. "That's their way of being excited for us."

The afternoon passed slowly but happily, and lunch was enjoyed as well as it could be in anticipation for such an exciting event. Oliver took to pacing late in the afternoon, and when several vendors began popping up near their campsite, he announced that it was time to go. He could wait no longer.

No one in their group purchased any souvenirs; instead, they made their way to the forest and to the pitch—Paul and Oliver were too eager for the match to begin to be distracted by rosettes and miniatures of the players. Seeing the match with their own eyes would be enough to remember by.

So they began the trek through the woods along a trail that had been lit with lanterns and reached the stadium in time to find their seats and survey their situation—they were near the centre, higher than the middle, but not so high that they would have to look down. Their seats were, in Madeline's opinion, quite excellent; and though they could hear the sound of thousands of people chattering and moving into the stadium, many people were singing above the racket.

Paul Wood announced that the whole stadium could fit a hundred thousand people and that the ministry had been working on it all year; and, as the stadium filled, Madeline could scarcely believe it didn't hold more—there were so many witches and wizards everywhere that she felt her jaw drop. Claire, too, was gazing around in awe, and Oliver was so excited for the match that he couldn't stop grinning.

Above and across from their seats was a huge chalkboard that was flashing with adverts for shops and goods from around the world. It was mildly amusing to Madeline and Claire to see advertisements from Hogsmeade, as they thought of it only as weekend retreat from Hogwarts, not an internationally-famous, all-wizarding village. Now that she was beginning to enter into the adult magical world, it was quite astonishing (and in a way, humbling) to see that their community was far larger than she had really ever imagined.

Sooner than anticipated, a voice booming across the stadium welcomed them to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup, and everyone cheered and screamed.

"That's Ludovic Bagman speaking," said Henry to Madeline.

After the noise died down some, the Minister introduced the Bulgarian National Team Mascots, which turned out, to everyone's great surprise, to be about one hundred veela. The beautiful women began dancing, and Madeline was only mildly impressed by their coordination and athleticism. When she looked back into the stands, she saw that her parents were speaking to each other about the match, and Paul was taking Oliver by the scruff of his collar and pulling him down—apparently, while Madeline had been distracted by the veela, Oliver had lifted his foot onto the rail and looked as though he was about to clamber over it. When the music stopped, half the stadium was in an uproar—angry shouts and yells were filling the gold-infused, crisp evening air. Madeline and Claire looked at one another and rolled their eyes, and Oliver stared at his hands as though seeing them for the first time.

Next were the Irish National Team Mascots, which zoomed into the stadium in flashes of green and gold, and after doing a few loops, created a rainbow—and once the rainbow united with two points of light at either end of the pitch, they formed a massive glittering shamrock. Soon the shamrock was soaring around, showering the entire stadium in gold pieces. When the shamrock came closer, Madeline could make out small red-vested men carrying lanterns—leprechauns!

"Look at that!" shouted Claire happily, grinning at all of the little men showering them with gold coins and green-and-gold light.

After the leprechauns had settled themselves across from the veela, and everyone had finished rummaging around for the gold coins, the Minister introduced the Bulgarian National Team. There were several supportive cheers, but none were as loud as for Viktor Krum, whom Madeline knew only through Oliver's rampant ranting about his apparently brilliant skills as a Seeker.

Next came the Irish National Team, and Madeline cheered ever so loudly for Moran, one of her favourite Chasers. Ludo then announced the Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassam Mostafa, who was to be the referee for the evening. As soon as Mostafa released the Quaffle and Bludgers (the Snitch had disappeared as soon as the crate had opened), the match began.

The players moved so quickly and so succinctly that Ludo Bagman had only enough time to shout their names as they tossed the Quaffle. While watching, Madeline could hear Oliver shouting happily next to her—

"The Hawkshead Attacking Formation! Brilliant! Look at them! Oooo! The Porskoff Ploy! Perfect! Look at Troy go! They've got it! GO! YES!"

The Irish scored, the leprechauns danced, and the veela sulked. Claire, Madeline, and Oliver hugged each other and jumped around and cheered.

Soon the Irish were up 30-0, and the game started moving even faster. It seemed only moments after Bulgaria earned their first goal that everyone gasped at Lynch and Krum, who were diving towards the ground; but right before they hit, Krum pulled up and away, and Lynch collided into the earth with a dull and terrifying thud. The Irish and their supporters all groaned.

"The Wronski Feint," said Oliver, shaking his head dejectedly. "I tried to teach Harry that one, but he never seemed to grasp the concept. Maybe he will now that he's seen it in action."

While Aidan Lynch was being revived by Mediwizards, Krum was using the time to search for the Snitch unabated by the action of the match. It wasn't long before Lynch was back on his broom and game resumed, much to the Irish supporters' delight.

The Irish Chasers didn't allow for anymore distractions, and were now ahead 130-10, and Bulgarian Beaters (among others) began taking violent measures. Madeline could almost understand—it was a matter of being frustrated and exhausted—and being tired and desperate often led to cheating and foul play.

Soon the fouls were obvious enough for Mostafa to call penalty shots for Ireland, and the veela and leprechauns were causing all sorts of chaos. The veela were shooting handfuls of fire at the leprechauns, who had formed into a massive inappropriate hand gesture. The leprechauns and veela were all-out fighting, and Ministry officials rushed down to try to separate them; but above that, the match was still taking place, and feverish environment was enough to cause anyone anxiety—Madeline was clutching at Oliver, whose grip was unusually tight. Claire and Madeline were hugging each other tightly.

Despite the chaos, the Irish Chasers were taking no prisoners, and continued their efforts in scoring. Krum and Lynch were both still searching for the Snitch, and while they were flying about, Krum got hit full-on in the face by a Bludger, and blood rushed everywhere—his nose appeared to be broken.

"Oh Merlin!" shouted Claire, her face contorted with horror, but before Oliver or Madeline could respond, they noticed that Lynch had seen the Snitch was pelting after it faster than Madeline had ever seen anyone fly. But Krum was close behind him. Despite his broken nose and the globs of blood that were flying after him, Krum was gaining on Lynch, and soon they were level—Oliver was jumping madly and shouting, but Madeline couldn't hear him, for the Irish were screaming like mad—and then, as soon as it had begun, it was over. Lynch crashed into the ground again, trampled by vicious veela this time, and Krum emerged as the victor with the Snitch squirming in his hand. His robes were drenched in blood, but he held the Snitch aloft, showing the world that he'd captured his team's defeat.

"Wow," said Claire in a hushed voice. "It's over?"

"Yes. 170-160. Shocking," said Paul Wood, who was shaking his head.

As Ludo Bagman announced Ireland's win over Bulgaria, the Irish supporters took a moment to realise their success, but soon found their spirit and glee to be overwhelming. The leprechauns were zooming around happily and the Irish team danced at their end of the pitch. They then performed a lap of honor and went to the top box for their magnificent trophy.

The tumult of the Irish supporters' victory cheers and dancing was too tantalizing to ignore, and Madeline joined the celebration. By the end, Madeline's throat was sore from cheering and screaming her hands pained from clapping so hard. Oliver was shaking his head and grinning.

* * *

The flood of people leaving the stadium seemed larger than Madeline had remembered seeing entering the stadium, but spirits were so high and the songs so easily engaged that she couldn't find cause to be impatient or angry. Claire took Madeline's hand so she wouldn't get lost, and they swung their hands and skipped around happily, singing all the while.

The lantern-lit trail led the group back to their campsite, where Madeline realised that she was so full of energy and excitement that she could hardly entertain any thoughts of sleep. Henry Palmer reignited the fire and made mugs of steaming hot cocoa for everyone. His daughter leaned against Oliver while she sipped her cocoa, and sitting around the fire with her family and friends, Madeline felt quite peaceful and thankful for being able to attend such an event.

Oliver and Paul continued to talk about the match and all of the foul-play for quite some time, but Gwen and Olivia grew drowsy from the warm air and cocoa. Claire was next, followed by Henry and Paul, who left Oliver and Madeline sitting outside of the two tents. Though it was late, the campgrounds were lit by several other fires and the leprechauns, which were still flying about with their green and gold lanterns, gleefully laughing and singing.

"We should probably get some sleep," said Madeline, who found herself yawning. After a few kisses, Oliver nuzzled his face into her neck and sighed.

"But you'll be leaving again tomorrow," he said, his voice tender and quiet. Madeline's thoughtful gaze turned from the fire to Oliver. She frowned.

"I know. Back to the horrors of being adults."

"That Crispin fellow sounds like an arse. You let me know if he bothers you," said Oliver, his voice nearing a growl. He kissed her neck and she smiled.

"He's nothing I can't handle," was her response. "Though seeing you hit him square on the nose might provide some satisfaction, I would never allow or condone such violence."

"Oh, never," said Oliver with a grin. Madeline swatted his arm playfully.

"Oliver!"

"Madeline!"

"I love you," she said, grinning up at him.

"And I you."

He wrapped her back in his arms, and Madeline felt perfectly content and drowsy next to the fire and Oliver. The stars were peaking out beneath a few thin wafts of clouds and there wasn't much of a breeze directing their fire, but snatches of singing and celebrating reached them for quite some time. Madeline was just on the point of falling into a deep, dreamless sleep when Oliver jumped, waking her up with a jolt. She couldn't remember whether she'd drifted off for just a few moments or for hours.

"What is it?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. Oliver was helping her to stand when she heard a shout—one that wasn't celebrating the Irish's victory over the Bulgarians.

"Wake your dad," said Oliver, whose brown eyes were dark with worry. Madeline ducked into her tent, found her parents, and woke them as gently and quickly as she could. More shouts could be heard, and the lack of singing gave Madeline an odd chill. She woke Claire and found Oliver, his parents, and her parents all standing outside, surveying the situation. Henry was frowning and Olivia walked off a small distance, looking around in different directions.

"It's a group of Death Eaters," said Olivia once she had returned. Her face was lined with an anger that bordered on fear. "They've got some Muggles, and they're... toying with them."

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Bet Begins**

A shimmering emerald skull, massive and hazy, hung above the forest. Fresh screams, many coming from the forest, rent the air. Madeline cried aloud and Bill Weasley, who was standing only a few feet away, swore.

"They're in there," he said urgently to his father, whose eyes had grown wide and fearful.

"No! _NO_! _You three stay together_!"


	6. The Bet Begins

**Chapter 6: The Bet Begins**

"It's a group of Death Eaters," said Olivia once she had returned. Her face was lined with an anger that bordered on fear. "They've got some Muggles, and they're... toying with them."

* * *

Claire had never seen anything so sickening, not even when she had studied some of the most grotesque transfigurations-gone-wrong. Four Muggles were being drifted along in midair while a group of masked wizards held their wands aloft, laughing and being wholly entertained by the Muggles' misery and pain. A chill ran along Claire's spine as she noticed that there were several Ministry officials running toward the scene, which had been illuminated in bursts of bright green light.

Before she could truly process her thoughts, she took off running in the opposite direction of the woods. Tents were being knocked over by both groups of people fleeing and joining the jeering, and fires were spreading. She heard Madeline and Oliver shouting for her from afar.

But she didn't stop. Seeing those Muggles in pain was more than she could bear, so she took her wand and caught up with the Ministry wizards trying to break up the group without causing the Muggles to fall. It was a precarious situation, but she wanted to help. She _needed_ to help.

As soon as she saw Arthur Weasley and his three eldest sons, she ran to join them. She drew near Percy and Charlie just as a skirmish broke out.

Claire had never seen such concentration on Percy's face as he began trying to disarm and avoid the spells of his rival, and it took only one near-miss for her to focus on herself. A short, plump masked wizard had singled her out and began taking great delight in watching her dance around to avoid his spells. He was able to catch her off her guard with a spell that knocked her to her feet, causing all of the air in her lungs to rush out, and leaving her nauseated and breathless. As she vomited, both Percy and the masked man ran towards her—Percy took a curse full in the face, causing his glasses to fly off and shatter. The fat man guffawed with drunken delight. As Claire was getting to her feet, she felt a hand grasp her arm and sling her back to the ground. Before she could think to cast a spell, she felt a kick to her lower back. She mentally braced herself for another kick, but none came. She looked up to see Charlie dueling with the masked man.

It was then that Madeline and Oliver arrived; while Madeline fixed Percy's glasses and broken nose, Oliver helped Charlie. Once Percy could stand and see, he began helping his brother as well, and Madeline ran to Claire.

"Are you alright?!"

"Yeah—I'm fine," said Claire, who coughed hard. Madeline helped her stand.

The masked man, still amused by the group of teenagers, laughed and decided (upon seeing the two girls not paying attention) to curse them both. Both Claire and Madeline hit the ground and screamed, as neither of them had ever felt such agony. He raised his wand again, perhaps to try out another curse, when Arthur Weasley appeared—an arrival that caused the masked man to regain some semblance of sobriety. He disapparated.

All in their company turned to the girls. Claire, who had already been cursed, lost consciousness, but Madeline was awake and tears streamed from her eyes as she shrieked and felt all of her nerves being pinched and every muscle contracting painfully.

Percy was there first, kneeling next to them with his hands extended as though afraid to touch them, and Oliver was next, jaw clenched tight, pulling Madeline into his arms and holding her while she writhed. Arthur and Charlie made it next, checking Claire for a pulse. Madeline's body relaxed after several intense moments, and Oliver released a heavy sigh. Charlie, whose shirt had been ripped from a nearly-missed curse, was attempting to rouse Claire when it happened—there was another flash of bright green light, brighter than before, and it caught everyone's attention.

A shimmering emerald skull, massive and hazy, hung above the forest. Fresh screams, many coming from the forest, rent the air. Madeline cried aloud, and Bill Weasley, who was standing only a metre away, swore.

"They're in there," Bill said urgently to his father, whose eyes had grown wide and fearful.

"No! _NO_! _You three stay together_!" he shouted as he disapparated. Bill had been on the verge of following his father when his last words halted him, and he turned and swore again instead.

Several of the wizards who had been in the crowd under the Muggles suddenly disapparated, the scene clearing faster than Madeline could have imagined. The abrupt calm was striking. Several Ministry officials disapparated, probably to the forest, and Paul, Henry, and Gwendolyn found them just as the Muggles were being safely brought to the ground.

"Where's mum?" asked Madeline. She was still shaking and Oliver hadn't released her from his hold.

"Doing her best to help Mr. Roberts and his family," said Henry. "What happened?"

His eyes went from his daughter to Claire, who was still lying unconscious on the ground.

"They were hit with the Cruciatus curse," said Charlie Weasley, his jaw set tight. "Claire's out cold."

"She'd already taken a hit," said Percy nasally, who was conjuring a rag for the blood pouring from his nose. "Madeline helped me with my nose and glasses, and then they were both cursed."

"I think I can stand," said Madeline, who pushed off of the ground with her arms, which felt like lead. With Oliver's help, she stood.

Gwendolyn knelt beside Claire and revived her after a few moments. Bill and Percy were gazing at the forest with looks of great worry.

"Who's in there?" asked Oliver while Claire stood with Gwen and Charlie's assistance.

"The twins, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione, among several others," said Bill. "We should get back to the tent. That's where dad'll go after he's found them."

Percy nodded ever so slightly, his nose still dripping blood, and Charlie hesitated.

"Are you—" he said, looking at Claire and then glancing at Madeline. "Are you both alright?"

"We will be. Thank you," said Madeline, who nodded to Percy, Bill, and Charlie. "I hope they're all safe."

"Thanks," said Bill, who nodded and led the other two Weasley boys away.

"Well, I think we should find your mum and get out of here. I don't fancy staying here tonight," said Oliver to Madeline.

Henry shook his head. "Olivia won't leave until the Muggles are safe."

It was decided that all but Henry should leave. Paul and Gwendolyn disapparated with Madeline and Claire, and Oliver met them back at their house.

When Madeline's parents returned, Olivia gave them the full account to the best of her knowledge.

"So Barty Crouch's house-elf was found near Harry Potter's wand, which had apparently been the wand used to conjure the Dark Mark, but they still don't know who did it. Potter apparently said he'd heard a man's voice, not a squeaky little house-elf, but it's all suspicious. The _facts_ are that several Death Eaters reunited tonight, but someone else decided to conjure the Mark that scared them all away. No bodies were found, no deaths… just the weird coincidence of finding Barty Crouch's house-elf with the wand of Harry Potter. Barty sacked the poor creature on the spot. The good news is that no one was injured save for the Muggles, and we've healed them the best we can. They'll be quite dazed and confused for a few weeks, but they'll come 'round."

It was a long while before Madeline, Claire, and Oliver found sleep. They stayed up talking for some time. It was a comfort to know that they were safe and that no one had been seriously injured, but the whole event had shaken them. Being struck by the Cruciatus curse was especially taxing. It had given them an idea of what the first reign of You-Know-Who had been like.

"Dad had told me stories about the Mark before, about how it usually meant that You-Know-Who had killed… but seeing it tonight… I can understand why it was so terrifying," said Madeline.

"It's good to know nothing happened to Harry," said Oliver, who had been the most quiet of them all. "He… attracts trouble."

"I love that the Weasleys sort of adopted him," said Claire. "And I'm glad they're all safe."

"And I'm furious with you—what could have possibly possessed you to take off running like that?" asked Madeline after some time. "You could have been—things could have been far worse."

"But we're all fine," said Claire. "I just couldn't—I couldn't look at those poor Muggles without wanting to help. They were being tortured for not having magic in their blood… and they could have easily been my parents."

* * *

Returning back to what Madeline considered the "real world" after the excitement and terror of the World Cup was just as unpleasant as she had anticipated.

Madam Gowling was not moved by the events that had transpired and was therefore unhappy that she hadn't finished reading _Advanced Theoretical Healing Practices, Volume 2_. Crispin was still bitter that he hadn't been able to leave for the weekend and jealous that she had had such an exciting time, so he didn't speak to her for several days. Madeline continued excelling in her work, and after another week, things were (more or less) back to normal.

It was mid-September (after the shock of having not boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time in seven years wore off) when Madeline received several letters.

The first was from Elaine, which read as follows:

 _My dearest, loveliest Madeline,_

 _I hope you can forgive me for not sending word sooner! Unfortunately I've been busy with planning the wedding, as Andrew wanted to choose only the location and who was to attend, and I've been left to the rest with just my mum and Andrew's mother for help. Of course, Kendra has been constantly owling me since I broke the news to her, and she begged me to be a bridesmaid—as if I hadn't already decided on her! I'm hoping, of course, that you'll be standing next to me as well on that very special day! I suppose I should have asked you in person, but you know my heart well enough—you know I've always wanted you there. Well, I hope all is well with you with your studies—wait! I forgot! There's so much more!_

 _I haven't yet found_ the _dress, nor have I found suitable bridesmaid dresses for everyone. Professor Sprout has happily agreed to help with the flowers, but there's still so much to be done. It would be extremely helpful if I could have both you and Kendra with me on Saturday next for a shopping excursion. Your complexions are totally different, and while I can guess at your shape, I'd rather have you both together. Your opinions each mean so much to me! My mum and Andrew's mother, as well as Andrew's cousin Natalia, will be with us while we try on dresses! I've already been to one shop, but I'm really excited to try a few more. Andrew's mother is delightful and so selfless—she's offered to purchase all of the dresses herself. You'll be on your own for shoes, I daresay, but don't you worry about anything else._

 _The colors of the wedding have also not yet been chosen—an issue that is haunting me more ferociously than Peeves ever did. This will hopefully be decided Saturday next when I fix on a bridesmaid dress color. Maddie, planning a wedding is ten-fold more stressful than I could ever imagine. There's so much pressure to have everything a certain way. Fighting through the guest list was a nightmare, truly. And food? I haven't even planned for the dining yet, but thankfully Andrew's mother knows someone. She also mentioned an ice sculpture yesterday? I didn't even know how to respond to that._

 _Sorry for the rant there at the end, but I feel like this day isn't even about Andrew and I anymore. Oh well. November 11_ _th_ _is the date, by the way. The location will be a surprise. Not sure if I ever told you. I really can't wait to see you and Kendra! I need backup._

 _Yours Truly, in Helga We Trust, Roomies Forever, Cornwall Rules, Allons-y,_

 _E.E._

Madeline's response was brief and positive. There were no reasons for Madeline to waste any of Elaine's precious time or to worry her further. She assured Elaine that she could help make some of the decisions that had been plaguing her and be there to try on dresses.

The second letter was from Nicolas, and though Madeline hadn't been surprised by the arrival of his large, gorgeous barred owl Aquila, the contents of his message were mildly shocking:

 _Madeline,_

 _When we were in school, I never expected that writing letters would become a practice of such importance. Needless to say, here we are, becoming adults, and here I am, writing letters twice a day. I've even developed a hideous writing pad on my finger. I'm sure you wanted to know that. I forgot how charming I can be. Anyway—_

 _I have tidings. News, actually—delicious, rumor-mill-churning news. Oh, yes. Brace yourself._

 _Richard—"our Richard", as you were so fond of saying—has fled England, perhaps forever. He wrote to me from New York City, and the poor beast that delivered his letter was exhausted. Richard has apparently been offered a position as an Assistant Curator at the wizarding museum in NYC. I forget its name, not that it matters. You'll know the one he means. The big, important one with the prestigious and massive collection of wizarding artifacts and priceless antiques—oh, yes. Richard has apparently joined an "elite, intellectual community, in which he finally feels accepted". He's still such a prat. I wasn't too shocked to read the contents of his letter (I always knew Richard wouldn't live in Britain forever), but I was surprised that he had written to_ me _, of all people. I'd expected him to contact Oliver before me. I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?_

 _Speaking of Oliver, I've dispatched a similar letter to him (with the owl Richard had purchased, after I nursed it back to health). I… didn't send one to Claire. I didn't think it should come from me. Could you possibly tell her? As you know, my tact isn't always… intact. Ha. Oh, Merlin, forgive me._

 _Nicolas_

 _P.S. I've decided that I don't fancy writing letters to you lot every bloody day, so how about we meet up at my place every Sunday for a few hours so I can subdue this stupid writing blister. Savvy? Great. I hope you're well. Learn loads. See you soon._

This was news, indeed, and Madeline wasn't sure how she felt about it. She also found that she couldn't write to Nicolas without sounding tetchy, so she postponed her response.

Claire wrote to her next. Before opening the letter, Madeline prepared herself to face Claire's knowledge of Richard's departure from their continent and any feelings regarding such information. Instead, she found her to be happy and indulgent, enjoying her work, and looking forward to moving out of her parents' house. It was then that Madeline remembered that she needed to break the news to her. It felt most appropriate to tell her in person, but she had to tell her about Nicolas' desire to see them all every Sunday regardless.

Madeline sighed and fell onto her bed. She felt like she couldn't make the proper decision, like she wasn't in her right mind and spirit. Being surrounded by an empty house and grouchy housemates was not giving Madeline an environment conducive to personal growth. It was stifling.

So she stood, left Gowling Manor, and found herself strolling through St Andrews until she reached the beach. The tide was low enough for her to walk some distance, and though it was overcast (as it always seemed to be), the scene was still beautiful. The ocean seemed to stretch on forever, the steely blue fading into the grey sky.

Feeling restless, she continued to walk—back through the town, past the ruins of the old St Andrews Cathedral, past a small Muggle car lot, and along a narrow brick protrusion that overlooked a small inlet and more residences. At the end, Madeline stood and stared, thinking of the future with agitation, until she heard a man sneeze. Jumping a little, Madeline spun around and saw a young man sitting on the edge of the brick walkway. He was a respectful distance from her, but she hadn't heard him approach and was wary.

"Sorry—I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I just needed to get outside, you know?"

Madeline assumed that he was a student at the Muggle university Madam Gowling had mentioned, and therefore she needed to minimize their conversation.

"No worries," she said, turning back around. She sighed. She understood him fully.

"Are you in school here? I don't think I've seen you around town before."

Madeline made no immediate reply. She didn't have many options—she could ignore him and hope he lost interest, or she could respond minimally and make up an excuse to leave when he got too nosy.

"I haven't seen you around either," she said, eventually deciding to evade his direct question.

"Well, I've been here for two years. I know most of the townfolk and students. Are you a tourist?"

"A tourist?" asked Madeline. She knew the word, but only vaguely.

"Are you here to see the course? Do you play golf?"

"Oh," she responded, shaking her head and feeling foolish. "No. Well, er—yes."

"Which is it?"

"I'm here to see the sites, I suppose. I'm not here for golf, though."

"Ah. I see."

Madeline made a mental note to ask Claire to tell her more about the Muggle sport. She knew it was played by Muggles all over the world, and required several thin metal sticks with varying sizes of nodular ends… but that was the extent of her knowledge.

"D'you know what time it is?" she asked. He looked down at his wrist.

"Nearly 4."

Madeline nodded and sat on the bricks with him.

"You don't want to be here, do you?" he asked, glancing at her.

"You're quite nosy for a M—" Madeline stopped herself short of saying the word "Muggle."

"What? For a man?"

"For someone I've never met."

"Fair enough. The name's Patrick. Patrick Willoughby."

"Oh, _now_ you tell me your name," said Madeline, who couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I suppose you'll be expecting me to reveal mine now?"

"That would be polite."

"What does it matter?"

"I'm curious."

"What do you think my name is?" she asked.

"You want me to guess at your name? Why?"

"I'm _curious_ ," she replied, grinning.

"Ah, alright," he said, smiling in response. "You look a great deal like a Catherine to me."

Madeline grimaced.

"Oof, I wasn't even close, was I?"

"No."

"Damn. Alright. Hmm. Blair?"

" _Really_?" Madeline asked, feeling offended for no substantial reason. " _Blair_?"

"This isn't fun anymore. Just tell me your name."

"Why should I?"

"I played your little game! It's the least I deserve."

" _Deserve_? What, like I _deserved_ your attention?"

"Oh, _God_ , we're going to do this, are we? Fuck—fine," he said, standing and holding up his hands defensively. "See you 'round. Or not."

After he had walked a few feet away, Madeline spoke up.

"You're right, by the way," she said. He turned around, looking much unhappier than he'd been before they crossed paths. "I don't want to be here."

As she said those words aloud, a ripple of sadness and loneliness coursed through her, and she began crying. She turned away from the guy and sat back on the bricks with her legs tucked under her chin. She hadn't realised how unhappy she was—all it took, apparently, was lashing out at random men.

Patrick Willoughby approached her again, more carefully this time, and asked if she was alright. Madeline needed a story to tell him, so she fabricated a flexible one.

"I'm here studying under my aunt. She's—homeschooling me," said Madeline, using a word that Claire had explained to her a long time ago. "My parents said I'd be better prepared for university. But my boyfriend and friends are all back home. I'm learning loads, but I'm just so miserable without them. They're my family."

As she spoke he nodded, but he remained silent for some time.

"I'm sure they were all sad to see you go. Can you visit them?"

"Not often enough," she replied.

After a while, Patrick spoke again.

"My girlfriend's at Cambridge. It was hard, especially the first year. We weren't used to being apart—not ever. We phoned constantly but didn't have time to visit each other, and I remember—there were several days when I hoped she would find someone better and just end it. Put us both out of our misery. But when we could see each other—on holidays, especially with our families, I'd always be reminded of how much she means to me. We try to talk every day. It's still hard sometimes. I never feel quite whole while we're apart."

Madeline found herself tearing up a bit while he spoke.

"What's her name?"

"Amelia."

"That's a beautiful name."

"What's your boyfriend's name?"

Madeline sniffled. "Oliver."

"He probably misses you more than you can imagine."

Madeline laughed.

"The hardest part has been—being alone in a completely new place. I feel like I can't take root and grow here. Like there's no soil... or something."

"The lotus takes root at the bottom of a pond. It finds soil underneath and floats at the top."

"Are you saying that I need to be more adaptable?"

"I'm saying that you won't find a thistle taking root at the bottom of a pond."

When they parted ways, Patrick Willoughby gave Madeline (whose real name he still did not know) a card with his name, work address, and personal telephone number. He worked in the university's library.

"If you need to talk, come see me. There's no need to feel totally alone," he said. Madeline thanked him, shook his hand, and watched him leave.

When she returned to her room, Madeline found that she had received a letter from McGonagall:

 _Madeline,_

 _Allow me to begin by saying that I have forgotten neither you nor my promise to you, though you may have assumed so by now. A great deal has been happening at Hogwarts this year, and it is, of course, my responsibility to help Dumbledore coordinate the goings-on of the school. Perhaps you have heard, perhaps not—the Triwizard Tournament has been reinstated and is taking place this very year._

 _Dumbledore and I, along with the Department of International Games, have been quite busy coordinating with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons on their participation (which is, of course, quite necessary for the competition), and I am sorry to say it has taken a great deal more time than I previously anticipated._

 _Despite this busy time, I would like to meet with you at the Three Broomsticks on the first Hogsmeade visit of the year—the first Saturday in October. I will reserve a room in which we may meet. My next owl will bring you the first batch of reading material I have selected for you. Though I know you are dedicated to your Healing studies, I believe it would be beneficial to continue to broaden your literary horizons. The attack at the World Cup is worrying—only a fool would think otherwise. You are safe while you are with Madam Gowling, but if you leave the manor, be on your guard._

 _If you no longer wish to further your studies in Transfiguration, only send word. Otherwise I will see you in October._

 _—_ _Minerva_

* * *

Saturday approached with a rapidity that Madeline had only ever seen on the Quidditch pitch. It was as though she blinked and suddenly she was in the Ellison sitting room being hugged by Elaine and Kendra, who were squealing and giggling in unison. Before Madeline could escape, Elaine's mother and a woman would could be only Andrew's mother both entered the room. Andrew's mother was tall and dark-haired, while Elaine's was short and blonde.

"Madeline, you remember my mum?" said Elaine, turning to the women.

"Mrs. Ellison," said Madeline, smiling and nodding.

"And this is Andrew's mother, Hélène Biscoe."

"You may call me Hélène," she said, smiling.

"And, please, my name is Grace," said Mrs. Ellison.

After several more pleasantries, offerings of tea and snacks, and polite inquiries of health and well-being, a younger girl entered, and she was announced to be Andrew's cousin, Natalia. She was dark-haired and lanky, and she had a haughty expression that reminded Madeline instantly of Margaret. That was when Elaine announced that they had an appointment with an important dressmaker in ten minutes' time.

"How are we getting there?" asked Kendra.

"I have our portkey," said Mrs. Biscoe, who smiled and extended a large, white, glittering high-heeled shoe.

A few long minutes later, when the women were all touching the shoe, the portkey activated, and Madeline felt herself being pitched head-long through time and space and into another location. As she stood, recovering from the magic of the portkey, she found herself in a very, very bright room.

Surrounding the women were dresses of every possible size and shape, and they were all gleaming white, cream, and every shade in-between. Though the shoe had given her an indication of their intended destination, her imagination hadn't gone so far as to predict a ballroom-sized room full of wedding gowns.

But that's where they were. Behind her, Madeline heard Kendra squeal again. Elaine grinned and _oooed_ , her eyes wide and bright, and the two mothers smiled their satisfaction. Madeline took a deep breath and was immediately pulled toward the closest row of gowns, but the mothers knew better—they gathered the girls and led them to their appointment room, which was a smaller area with several dressing rooms and two women wearing tangerine form-fitting dresses.

"Bienvenue a Paris!" said the taller woman once the group had arrived.

"And welcome to _Boutique de Leroux_ ," said the other, whose red hair contrasted oddly with the orange dress. "I am Anita, and this is Nicolette. We're here today to try on some wedding dresses, no?"

There was a collective nod and murmured assent.

"Which beautiful lady is our bride-to-be?"

Being ushered forth by Kendra and Natalia, Elaine blushed and said, "It's me."

"Excellent! Allons-y!" said Nicolette.

Elaine was then pulled toward the front, and three racks of dresses were rolled into their appointment room. She was encouraged to choose a single dress from each rack, which seemed nearly impossible to Madeline. There were at least twenty dresses on each rolling rack, and they all seemed essentially the same to her—long, white or off-white, and shiny.

It took Elaine several long minutes to choose three dresses from sixty, but once this step was complete, the real show began. Elaine modeled her three choices, none of which she liked once she was in them. From there, everyone began voicing their opinions, and Madeline sat back and watched Elaine—her face had always been easy for Madeline to read—and noticed that she hadn't been comfortable in any of the princess-poofy dresses, which were primarily what she had tried on. After an hour of trying on numerous dresses, Elaine decided to take a break and let her bridesmaids try on some dresses. Madeline sighed with both relief and resignation. They rolled a few more racks of dresses—this time a far more colourful selection—and Madeline was soon wiggling into tight, delicate pieces of fabric.

The first dress was long, pale blue, and had a lacy one-shoulder crossover that Madeline struggled to get on correctly. The color worked for Madeline and Kendra but looked horrible on Natalia's beautiful olive skin.

The second was a mermaid-style dress in a teal green that complemented Madeline's hair well. The dress itself made her feel extremely wobbly and self-conscious.

"Wobbly?" asked Elaine, who looked confused when Madeline said something.

"I couldn't run in this," she said, frowning. "I can hardly walk straight, let alone in heels."

"D'you like the color?" asked Elaine, who was wringing her hands together.

"The color is terrible," said Natalia blandly. "It's too bright."

"This shape shows off each bridesmaids' beautiful figure," said Anita. She and Nicolette were flanking Elaine with their arms crossed. Elaine looked nervously back to Madeline, who gave one resolute shake of her head and frowned.

Another hour produced no progress. The group of women broke for lunch in a separate room, and while everyone was happily eating, Elaine pulled Madeline back into the room with dresses. Tears rose in her eyes.

"D'you see what I mean? I thought this would be easier—having everyone together. It's almost worse," said Elaine. Her voice trembled and broke.

"Elaine, take a deep breath," said Madeline, who took her friend's hands. "And let me tell you something. At the end of your wedding day, you will not care what I am wearing. You might not even care what _you_ are wearing, for that matter, and Andrew definitely won't either. What's important is binding your lives together and becoming one family, right? These other minor details—they matter only to the people watching. If your mum and Andrew's mum are set on this being a spectacle, let them deal with it. Pick a dress you're _comfortable_ in. Pick a dress you can look back on twenty years from now and smile at. And for the love of Merlin, don't put me in that bloody 'mermaid' dress again."

Elaine laughed, tears trickling gently down her face, and hugged Madeline.

"You're right. You're—completely right. I saw you eyeing this one, Maddie," she said, picking up a pale pink dress with no poofs. Madeline smiled.

"Aye, you did. And I think I know which dress you'd prefer."

By the time that the bridal party and assistants returned, Elaine had made up her mind.

"This one?" asked Anita, surprised. "Are you sure? It's nothing like your original choices."

"Ah," said Nicolette with a knowing nod. "Bateau necklines—very stylish right now. And zee lattice tulle train? C'est parfait!"

Elaine tried it on and despite some initial hesitation, it truly was perfect. It kept to Elaine's initial desire for tulle but wasn't a full-on ball gown. Next were the bridesmaids.

Madeline had selected a long, lace gown with small cap sleeves, a high neckline, and a triangular cutout (and a lower horizontal cutout) in the back. To Elaine's surprise and delight, Kendra and Natalia both loved it. The color—a pale pink known to Anita and Nicolette as "Champagne #3"—was also settled upon with no serious objection. The mothers each found a dress they liked in the same color, and by the end of the four-hour appointment, every lady had a dress for Elaine's wedding.

It was late afternoon when Madeline returned to Gowling manor, and she had half a mind to bring her dress to show it off to Oliver. She was trying it on again when there was a knock on her door, and she opened it to find Crispin standing there looking thoroughly dejected and then confused.

"Madeline, I, er—what are you wearing? Are you going somewhere?"

"No, nowhere," she replied quickly. Her eyebrows furrowed, her arms crossed. "What d'you want?"

"Erm—well, I was—I was going apologize. I've been—an unpardonable prat for weeks now, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry. You're better at this than I am, and I suppose I thought I'd be the star pupil."

"Cris—it's not a competition. We're both in the program. We're both going to be Healers."

"Yes but you could make it to the practicum before I do, and—"

"And what?" said Madeline, throwing her arms in the air. "I get a slight head start because I'm a faster reader? That means _so_ little. You could easily be better at the practical stuff—and we're going to have different strengths, Cris. We're different people with separate cares and struggles. I hate this process as much as you do—it's like school all over again, just without our normal friends and professors. I'm ready to have this all over with too. So get over it, stop procrastinating, and catch the bloody hell up."

For a few silent moments, Cris just stared at Madeline wide-eyed.

"What?!"

"You're crazy," he said, as though seeing her for the first time.

"See? You're finally catching on," she replied, and shut the door.

Madeline changed, and when she opened the door again, Crispin was gone. She shrugged, shut the door again, and began reading.

The next morning, Crispin was at breakfast before Madeline, which was unusual.

"G'mornin," he said cheerfully as she sat down. Her favorite scones and crumpets appeared at her presence. Crispin's nose was buried in their current textbook, _A Healer's Guide to Splinching, 3_ _rd_ _Edition_. Madeline had read only the first half, and he looked as though he was almost done with it. Madeline smiled and tried not to laugh.

"You look nice—again. Where are you off to today?"

"A friend's house. Nicolas Tennant's, actually. We're having lunch later."

"It's still odd to me that you know him," said Crispin, who shook his head. "He was a colossal prat even at age 10."

"I'm not sure if he's changed much," said Madeline, who laughed. "No… Nick's… he usually has his heart in the right place."

"You've known him for seven years, you said?"

"I suppose. We started growing close in fourth year or so. Started dating sixth year. Broke up last fall. He thought I was in love with his best friend—turns out he was kind of right."

"You would be a heart-breaker," said Crispin with a laugh.

"As if you haven't broken any hearts before," said Madeline. "You're a good-looking bloke. What's your story?"

"Haven't met the right woman."

"That's impeccably vague, Crispin."

"D'you _have_ to do that? You know I hate that."

"It's your _name_!"

Crispin rolled his eyes and finished his eggs and toast while Madeline finally started eating. She watched him read and eat, pleased at their new amiable rapport and hoping it wasn't temporary. After waiting for Madam Gowling for another fifteen minutes or so, Crispin decided she wasn't coming.

"She's probably in an important meeting," he said, nodding.

"Or having a lie-in. She's pretty old."

"She can also hear through walls and probably hates you now."

Madeline rolled her eyes, and after she finished her breakfast, she had a rather strange idea.

"Oi, Crispin, what are you doing later?"

"Reading."

"What about before and after that?"

"Reading."

"Right," said Madeline. "Well, if you want to get out of here and interact with someone other than myself or Madam Gowling, let me know."

He didn't respond, so Madeline stood and was leaving when he stopped her.

"Wait—what did you say?"

"I said to let me know if you don't want to be a recluse today."

"Are you… really suggesting that I show up at Nicolas Tennant's home with his ex-girlfriend after nearly six years of not seeing him?"

There was a few moments' pause.

"Yes?"

Crispin considered this.

"Yeah, alright, sure."

* * *

That's how Crispin and Madeline ended up in the ever-formidable Tennant sitting room alone together when Nicolas walked in looking mightily confused. He was holding a stack of heavy-looking plates (as though he couldn't levitate them) and appeared more confused than Madeline had ever seen him.

"D'you need help?" asked Madeline as she retrieved her wand. She levitated the plates from his arms nonverbally and gently placed them on the dining table in the next room over.

The two men were staring at their feet when Madeline returned.

"Oh, Merlin's beard, don't act like you don't know each other," she said, breaking the tense quiet. "Nick, Crispin is in the Healing program with me. I invited him here today because I thought you both might like to catch up. Crispin, if you would like to leave, feel free. Where's Claire?"

"Well hello to you too, Maddie," said Nicolas. "Claire's in the kitchen. Oliver should be here soon."

"And Margaret?"

"With her family again."

Madeline nodded and then silently slipped out of the sitting room and into the kitchen, where Claire was sporting a white apron and stirring a bowl by hand. She was wearing a white-and-navy striped shirt and jeans, and she had some flour on her left cheekbone. It was precious.

"Maddie!" she said, placing the bowl on the counter and running over. Madeline grinned, embraced her best friend, and sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I've made a huge mistake," she said, shaking her head and giving Claire a brief explanation of the Crispin/Nicolas situation. Claire washed her hands while Madeline spoke.

"Oh," said Claire, her eyebrows furrowing. "Maybe they'll work out the awkwardness before we go back out there."

"They both might hate me forever."

"They might."

"Claire, what are you making? And why are you stirring by hand?"

"Well, Nick and I sort of have a bet going on," she said, rolling her eyes. "We were talking about how my parents live without magic. He didn't believe that I could go a week without using my wand. I told him he couldn't go two days, so we're currently seeing who can last the longest. We started yesterday. I took a bus to get here, which is why I was early. I was trying to make my mom's waffles by hand, and it's been harder than I expected. But I'm almost done. Stirring this dough is a lot tougher than it looks."

"May I?" asked Madeline, who took the bowl and began stirring. It wasn't too tough.

"I forget you actually have muscles," said Claire, who playfully poked at Madeline's arms. "How was the dress shopping?"

"Oh, I don't even know where to start. It was horrendous—"

"That bad, eh?"

"It was a nightmare. Elaine ended up crying while everyone was eating lunch. I had to calm her down and force her to make some tough decisions. She had too many people trying to make up her mind for her, you know?"

"Sounds about right."

"But after I sort of forced her hand, it was fine. Kendra wanted to go lingerie shopping afterward, but I was exhausted, so I just went home."

"Do you have the dress with you?" Claire asked, grinning slyly.

"I might have brought it... just in case."

"Well go on! Put it on!"

With her magically-extended purse (in which her dress was hopefully safely stowed), Madeline ran into the nearest empty room and changed. She came back into the kitchen to find that Nicolas and Crispin had, in fact, worked through their awkwardness and were currently talking to Claire.

"You two weren't supposed to be in here yet," said Madeline with eyebrows furrowed.

"Maddie—wow," said Claire. "That's gorgeous, that is. You should leave it on until Oliver gets here. Let me see the back."

"I don't know—I kind of want it to be a surprise for him in November," she said, blushing and turning around. Claire approached and touched the back of the dress.

"I told you that you looked nice," said Crispin.

"Is that for Elaine's wedding?" asked Nicolas. "Because that's stunning. Aren't the bridesmaids supposed to be _less_ gorgeous than the bride?"

"Oh shut it, you," said Madeline, who spun around angrily. "Elaine's dress is perfect, and she's going to make every man at her wedding jealous of Andrew."

Nicolas shrugged. "If you say so."

"I _do_ say so!"

"Well if you don't want Oliver to see it, you might want to change. He'll be here any minute."

When she returned from changing, Oliver was indeed standing in the kitchen, and Madeline felt like her heart burst through her chest at the sight of him. She ran over and hugged him before he could turn around, and she could felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled.

"Hello, Maddie," he said, and she loosened her grip so he could spin around and look into her eyes. They then kissed, and Oliver picked her up and carried her out of the room.

After nearly half an hour, Nicolas groaned.

"D'you think they're still snogging? It's time to eat," he said.

"I doubt it. I can go check," said Claire.

"If they are, they've surely moved past the 'just snogging' phase," said Crispin. Both men watched as Claire approached the sitting room, opened the door, and poked her head in.

Nicolas shook his head and mumbled, "Not these two."

"They're just sitting there," she said, laughing. "It's time to eat!"

When they all made it to the dining room table, Madeline saw that there were several dishes prepared, expensive dishware, and at least four beverage options.

"Nick, how did you manage to cook all of this without magic?"

"I didn't. The house-elves cooked almost everything."

Madeline turned to Claire, who shrugged.

"We didn't specify. Technically _he_ didn't use magic," said Claire. Madeline rolled her eyes but didn't say more; the food looked too amazing to complain.

"What's going on?" asked Oliver, and Nicolas explained the parameters of his bet with Claire.

"What's the prize?" asked Crispin. "The cost of the bet?"

"Oh," said Claire, whose eyebrows squished together. "We didn't really discuss that."

"I think they're just trying to prove a point," said Madeline. "Nicolas doesn't understand how Muggles live, and Claire thinks he should. Nick will insist that it's not so bad, that he can handle it, while he silently struggles. He will probably break first by accident but not say anything. Claire will break second and feel guilty about it until she confesses and loses."

"Wow, you've really got us pegged, haven't you?" asked Nicolas sardonically. "If I break first, I promise to never make fun of Muggles ever again. If you win, Claire, you can have full control over the flat."

"What flat?" asked Madeline.

Claire's eyes widened, her jaw slack.

"You swear it?" she asked, ignoring Madeline.

Nicolas nodded, his gaze unwavering, his tone serious.

"On my name, I swear it. You won't win, but if you do, you can call me Argyll from then until we die."

"We shall inscribe Argyll on your tombstone if you make that promise," said Claire, who was grinning. "Yet I agree to your first offer. We'll need to put this in writing. I need clarification on what 'full control' truly means."

"WHAT FLAT?" Madeline insisted again.

"Oh, I decided to sort of buy a Muggle apartment building. The bloke who runs it knows my dad. So we own the premises and the top floor is a ridiculously large flat. Margaret, Claire, Oliver and I were talking about moving in together."

Madeline's mouth fell open while he spoke.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" she asked, turning to Oliver. He frowned.

"Today."

"And you think this is a good idea?" Madeline looked to Oliver and Claire, and eventually to Nicolas. "You _all_ believe this is a good idea?"

"If you're worried about Margo—" began Nicolas, but Claire interrupted.

"She and I won't be around each other very much, and _when_ I win this bet, I will be setting some very Margo-specific rules. It's going to be fine, Maddie."

Madeline sat back and was silent for the rest of their lunch. When they moved back to the sitting room, Oliver took her hands and pulled her into a hug.

"Maddie, what's the matter?"

"I'm just—it's not fair. You'll all be living together, and I'll be stranded in St. Andrews all alone," she said, her lips working into a pout.

"You're not stranded, and this is temporary. You'll be done soon enough. This way—I'll be independent, but I'll only be paying utilities. Nick won't charge us rent to live with him, at least not until we piss him off. Which… if you keep your cheek in check, won't be a problem."

" _My_ cheek?" said Madeline, who tried to be angry but ended up grinning.

"I'll not hold my breath, then," he replied, also grinning.

Crispin returned to Gowling Manor before Madeline, leaving the four Hogwarts friends alone to chat. Madeline had written to Claire about Richard, so the topic wasn't unavoidable, but they found a way to talk about him anyway.

"When I got his owl, I didn't know how to tell any of you," said Nicolas, frowning.

"He thought he would be useless, which I will never understand, but I'm glad he's happy," said Claire with a shrug. "Did I tell you who I saw in London not too long ago?"

When they all responded with a shaken head or a no, Claire smiled and laughed.

"Charlie Weasley. He actually came into the library looking for some books on the Welsh Green dragon breed, and he told me a lot about what's happening at Hogwarts this year. They're bringing back the Triwizard Tournament! The first event has something to do with dragons, so that's why he's not in Romania. Isn't that bizarre?"

"That's— _what_?!" said Nicolas, who threw his hands into the air. "That's not fair! We could have participated if only they had done it last year!"

"I can't imagine having to study with that tournament happening," said Claire.

"I highly doubt much studying will happen. McGonagall finally wrote to me this week, and said that she's been helping Dumbledore reinstate the tournament, and that it's been taking up most of her time. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are set to participate, I believe. I could hardly believe it. She also sent me a stack of books to read, and I'll be meeting with her in October at the first Hogsmeade weekend. I'm sure I'll find out more then. I'm surprised I haven't heard from Cedric, now that I think about it…."

"Charlie said that the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will arrive in late October and that the first task will be about a month later."

"That seems so soon," said Madeline. "I wish we could watch the tournament. D'you think Charlie could get us in?"

"Not sure," said Claire, who shrugged. "I can ask."

"Sounds like Charlie Weasley isn't going to the library for the books," said Nicolas, who had his hands interlaced behind his head, looking obnoxiously smug.

"He's not anymore," said Claire unabashedly. "I'll see him tomorrow, actually, Madeline. I'll ask then. Oliver, he wanted me to tell you congratulations."

"Erm… tell him I said thanks?"

"Are you _really_ dating Charlie Weasley?" asked Madeline, who couldn't help but laugh. "I noticed he was paying special attention to you at the World Cup. That's _precious_. All the girls used to whine that Charlie Weasley never paid them any mind. Kendra, especially, d'you remember?"

"I remember when _you_ fancied him," said Oliver to Madeline. "D'you recall that, Nick?"

"Of course. I hated him for years. All the girls in our year fell in love with him at one point," said Nicolas grimly.

"He only had eyes for the Quidditch pitch, thankfully," said Oliver.

Madeline stuck her tongue out at him.

"He was the amazing Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and Alex Mulroney was an arse. I have a lot of respect and admiration for Charlie, and my fancy was brief. Kendra's was _not_."

"Not until Peter grew up to be Charlie's size," said Claire with a grin. "How is Kendra?"

"Unchanged, unphased. She wants to get married soon after Elaine. I believe she's quite jealous of Elaine, actually."

"What's there to be jealous of?" asked Nicolas. "Married at eighteen? What's the point?"

"Security, I suppose? I dunno," said Madeline as she shrugged. "But Andrew's family is spending a lot of money on this wedding, so I guess she's jealous that it's going to be so fancy."

"And Kendra hasn't realised how much pressure that is, I'd reckon," said Claire.

"That's what happens when you marry into a rich family. There are several expectations. Traditions. It's all got to be followed by the letter. Elaine will probably be expected to be pregnant by this time next year," said Nicolas.

"Are you serious?" asked Claire, her mouth agape. "That's completely archaic!"

"Pureblood women are expected to produce as many offspring as possible," he said sternly, without blinking. "Though I suppose we can all be thankful Narcissa Malfoy produced only one."

This caused everyone to laugh away some of the discomfort, but once the last giggle was gone, Nicolas' tone returned to its former severity.

"You all know the sort of expectations I mean. Purebloods are expected to keep having pureblood children as quickly as possible. And while most of our society feels indifferently on this topic, many still don't. Mark my words, Elaine will be with child before her next birthday."

"I remember… back when I had my mini holiday in Cornwall, and Andrew first appeared, Elaine had to explain her whole engagement to me—they'd been promised to each other since birth," said Madeline.

"But she was dating that Ravenclaw!" cried Claire.

"I know! And she didn't have a good explanation, other than hoping that their engagement wouldn't come to pass. She told me that she was scared of being a Muggle-lover in his family—that she'd have to keep it a secret, basically. Except she couldn't hide her collection of Muggle fiction if she tried."

"I think Elaine will be a very different person in ten years," said Nicolas darkly.

"Won't we all?" asked Claire, looking at Nicolas directly. Her tone and gaze were somber.

"We're a cheerful lot today," said Oliver after several long moments of silence. "You're all too focused on the distant future. I have my first professional match in two weeks, and here we are talking about how we're all going to be different people in ten years. Well, we're different now than we were at eight, aren't we? Of course. Change isn't an option. We get to decide who we'll be. That's all."

* * *

 **Chapter 7: The Landlord**

Oliver flew low to the ground and swore. He hated this drill, hated it more than being away from Madeline (or so he thought in the moment). As he approached the metal hoops, which were arranged in a series of sharp semi-circles and hopscotch-like rungs, Oliver took a deep breath in and out. He could do this, but he was terrified of hitting one of the metal hoops _again_. The semi-circles weren't bad—he could fly in curves well enough—but the dynamic motion of hopping/flying between hoops set apart at odd distances was a seemingly unconquerable beast. Oliver hadn't been afraid of Quidditch hoops until he met with this drill, but he had also never dislocated his knee in one before, either.


	7. The Landlord

**Chapter 7: The Landlord**

"... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens, we won't believe it."  
\- Shannon Hale, _The Goose Girl_

* * *

His full name was Marcellus Otto Abner, and while the Muggles called him Mr. Abner, everyone in the wizarding world knew him as Otto. One of his classmates at Hogwarts, a mischievous boy by the name of Fletcher, tried very early on to convince everyone that Abner was a Squib. After a minor second-year duel (from which Abner came away with celery sprouting out of his ears and Fletcher couldn't stop dancing), no one doubted his magic, and the two boys became close friends. The boy by the name Fletcher began calling his new friend "Otto" and Abner christened the other boy "Dung." Though age, habit, and occupation slowly drifted the men apart, they remained loyal friends and confidants to their last days.

Strangely enough, it was Mundungus Fletcher who had informed Nicolas Tennant of his friend Otto's "esteemed and honourable" real-estate ventures. Nicolas had seen Dung digging into his porridge in the Leaky Cauldron one morning and decided to ask if he knew of any property for sale. Though he took a bit of monetary convincing, Mundungus gave Nicolas the information he needed to seek out his friend.

Nicolas knew Oliver and Madeline would be too busy to join him, and Margaret was still tanning or whatever in Italy, so he enlisted Claire to help him on his mission.

The Monday prior to meeting with their friends and beginning their bet, Nicolas and Claire set off into Muggle London together to look for an American woman by the name of Elise Canyon. She was Abner's secretary and manager, so they would have to speak with her before seeing Abner. Nicolas thought it wouldn't be difficult given Mundungus' information—he said she ate lunch at the same quiet pub every day, and that there were hardly ever more than five or six customers in there at noon. It was a newer place, known as Seychelles, and it was similar to the Leaky Cauldron in that it almost always escaped the notice of Muggles.

Claire had to ask several of her coworkers and friends at the library to find out its precise location, and one of her friends at work, a woman named Liza, asked if she could join her for lunch. Nicolas had promised to meet her at the library before their search, so when he showed up, Liza immediately turned red and revoked her request.

"Nonsense!" cried Claire. "You're quite welcome to join us. We're just looking for someone."

"It's not a date?" she whispered while Nicolas was busy charming another witch in Claire's department.

"Good heavens, no! Of course not. I'm seeing that ginger lad, remember? Charlie?" was Claire's whispered response.

"He's _so handsome_. Where d'you find these lads? Is he single?" she breathed.

"Erm, no, he's dating a girl named Margaret. I've known him for years. Like I've said, you're welcome to come."

Nicolas then turned his attention to Claire and Liza.

"Ready, Claire?" he asked, smiling at both women.

"I'm all set. Is it alright if Liza joins us?"

"Oh, no, I forgot—I brought my lunch. Next time, yeah?"

"Liza! It's alright, really—" Claire began, but Liza smiled, shook her head, and waved as she walked away. Perplexed, Claire watched as Liza picked up a stack of books and carried them into another section of the library. She didn't stir until Nicolas prompted her by tapping her on the shoulder.

"Shall we? I don't want to miss our chance. Also, I'm starving."

"You and Oliver are always hungry," she replied with a shake of her head. "Let's go."

"What's wrong with your friend?" he asked once they were outside.

"She thought you were too good-looking to be in your presence, or some nonsense like that," said Claire dismissively. She looked both ways and then crossed the street before them, following the mental directions she had taken from Liza.

"Good heavens, did she really?" asked Nicolas with a laugh. "Funny, that's how I've always felt about you."

Claire tossed him a withering glare and focused on their path.

"Flattery is obnoxious."

"Oh, c'mon. You know you're gorgeous."

"Stop it," said Claire, her voice suddenly serious.

"Alright," he replied, his hands up defensively. "No more compliments from me."

They walked a block or two with no words passing between them, and while it wasn't a completely comfortable silence, it wasn't painful either. They continued on, their thoughts their own, until Nicolas nearly got ran over by a vehicle—Claire had to grab his arm and pull him back as he mindlessly strolled into a busy street.

"Watch it!" she hissed. "Wait for everyone to cross, alright?"

"Going to take my hand and lead me across every street, mum?"

"If you're going to act like an impatient child who can't wait for the damn walk signal, then yes," she said, glaring at him. "Margaret would kill me if I let you get run over by a car."

"I'd pay to see that duel, I would," said Nicolas as they finally crossed the street with the others queued around them. "You think you could take her? She'd play dirty."

"And I wouldn't?"

Nicolas shrugged. "Like I said, I'd pay good money to see that duel."

"Where is Margaret? Why didn't you ask her to join you?"

"She's abroad again," he said. "Said something about one of her aunts being sick and took off."

"It's funny. She talked about her family a lot the first few years we lived together. I loved hearing stories about her crazy uncles and rich aunts and dozens of cousins and second cousins and whatever. It seemed so exciting to an only child to have such huge family. I know her dad's British and mum's Italian, and her mum's family seemed like so much fun. But eventually she just stopped talking about them. Boys became the only thing that mattered, especially after fourth year. Did I ever tell you that I once walked in on her and Davies?"

"No, and I don't want to know."

"They didn't even notice. I grabbed my book, left, and warned Penny not to go in. All I remember is his lumpy arse—not at all a pleasant sight," she said, looking both ways before they crossed a more deserted street. "I couldn't stand the sight of him for weeks."

"I couldn't ever stand the sight of him. Did anyone ever walk in on you and Richard? Well—sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no one ever saw us, at least... not to my knowledge. He and I knew how to lock doors. Though there were a few broomclosets we left unlocked just for the thrill of it."

Nicolas laughed, and even after Claire stopped laughing, he doubled over and continued laughing.

"I'm sorry—I just—I've remembered—did Maddie ever tell you about our only broomcloset adventure?"

"NO! What happened?!"

Nicolas continued laughing, his face red and eyes watery.

"Hold on—hold on—"

"Tell me!"

Nicolas took a few moments to breathe and collect himself before continuing.

"So there we were—young and wide-eyed sixth years—finally having a right proper snog—when Maddie decides we should find more privacy, which, of course, I was completely for, except the only place around was a broomcloset. So we dashed in and started snogging away when all of sudden we hear _whistling_. Maddie stops because—"

"Because it's Maddie," said Claire, nodding with impatience.

"And she said, 'I know that voice', or something like that. But I didn't care, so I kept kissing her, but we heard the whistling again—louder and in an intelligible tune. So she pulls away from me _again_ and looks around like we're _not alone_ in a tiny bloody broomcloset, and she says, 'Nick, I know that song'."

Claire's eyes widened, her hands clasped together at her lips, and Nicolas grinned.

"I was pretty irritated at this point, so I said, 'Maddie, we're alone, forget about it'. She dismissed it; we went back to snogging. But then it happened _again_ , and instead of looking around, Madeline looked _up_ —I don't know what inspired her to do it, and in the moment I thought she was mad—but she wasn't. The Fat Friar's huge round face was poking through the ceiling of the broom closet, and once he realised that we'd finally seen him, he burst out laughing and floated away."

Claire hid her face with her hands and shook her head. Nicolas took a moment's notice of her glossy silver nail paint and his eyes moved back to her face.

"That's mortifying!"

"I distinctly remember the 'mortified' look on Maddie's face. She was all horror. I laughed and tried to kiss her again, but she bolted from the broomcloset and ran all the way to the Gryffindor Common Room. I don't think she could look at the Fat Friar for the rest of the term."

"I can't believe she never told me."

"I can," he replied, laughing. "It's probably one of her top most embarrassing moments."

"But I'm her best friend! We're supposed to tell each other _everything_. And we talked about you all of the time anyway!"

"Well, ask her about it. She probably blocked it from her memory. See what she says."

"I suppose I will soon."

"So what was the oddest place you and Richard ever—"

"Oh, it was definitely Greenhouse #1. The idea of being surrounded by harmless plants appealed to me, but it ended up being far less romantic than I'd hope. I mean, the sex was great, but we got soil and bits of leaves everywhere. _And_ we almost got caught by Professor Sprout. Not ideal."

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Nicolas smiled and shook his head.

"I find it fascinating that you and Maddie are so close and yet so different."

"I don't feel like we are so different. We're both affectionate, both serious at times, and we both crave independence and freedom. Perhaps we differ with personal relationships and sexuality, but that can be blamed on timing and priorities. Richard and I grew very close too quickly, and my lack of caution and my desire to please him led to the early development of the sexual part of my nature. The same happened with Margaret, I believe. But Maddie was always too focused on school and Quidditch and making sure we were all happy to be bothered with her own desires for long. I, however… I suppose I mostly wanted to make sure that Richard was always happy. I won't make that mistake again."

If Nicolas had an immediate reply to this, he refrained from expressing it. Instead, he met Claire's eyes and tried to pass on what he believed to be an understanding half-smile. She smiled briefly and shrugged.

"I was obviously not what he needed."

"What we want and what we need are hardly ever one and the same. Still, his behavior offends me profoundly," said Nicolas. His voice was low, for they had reached the quieter area in which they were hoping to find Seychelles. "Has Madeline written to you in regard to Richard? I hadn't planned on bringing it up, but since we have—"

"Yes, she wrote to me. I appreciate your asking her to do it. She was pissed—said you didn't have the sacks to do it yourself—but I appreciate it nonetheless."

"I believed her better to deliver such news. What would it mean coming from me? I'm surprised he owled me to start. But it doesn't matter. We don't have to talk about him."

"You're right—we don't. Madeline's a better topic. She's quite unhappy right now."

"Of course she is! Being separated from Oliver is bound to make her tetchy," said Nicolas. "Oliver nearly went mad when she was in Cornwall for a week. If he hadn't made Puddlemere, he'd be loony."

"It's still a little strange to me—this may be out of line, so forgive me—but was it difficult for you to transition from Madeline to Margaret? It was your decision to relinquish your love for Madeline, but to then so quickly select Margaret as the penultimate partner—I'm not sure I could ever understand."

"You're heavily biased."

"As are you!"

Nicolas stopped walking and met Claire's bright green-grey eyes again.

"What d'you want me to say, Claire? That Margaret is a more beautiful human than you know her to be? That she completes me? That I've found a refuge in her spirit and in her soul?"

Claire's defiant gaze wavered; Nicolas was rarely so poetic. She wasn't sure what she had been trying to express or ask. She, like Madeline, just wanted them all to be happy.

"I know you and Maddie both prefer the truth, so let me be clear—Margaret and I are _not_ a perfect match. We know this, and we've both struggled to accept it. As the two women with whom I spent the majority of my life, you and Madeline guide my behavior and set my standards. So to answer the question I _believe_ you tried to ask, _yes_. It was sometimes difficult to understand that Margaret doesn't always think like you or Maddie. She sometimes strays from your standards of behavior and thought. She doesn't believe in restraint or absolutes. Her love of knowledge began inward and worked outward, so she understands who she is on all levels. It's… humbling, honestly."

"Oliver likes to say that she doesn't know who she is," said Claire. "My tendency was to agree with him."

"Margaret may not know how to translate herself into the world around us, especially the professional world, but she thoroughly understands who she is. And I adore that about her."

At these words, Claire smiled, and it was such a tender, affectionate smile that Nicolas felt his chest grow lighter. It seemed as though all of the tension he'd been stuffing into his heart and mind suddenly diffused. He thought immediately of Margaret bounding up to him, a radiant smile on her perfect lips, and wondered if he would see her sooner than she let on. When Nicolas' attention finally directed back to Claire, she was looking into the window of a women's clothing shop, and he stopped to observe his surroundings for the first time in several minutes. His mind grew clearer—it was as though he'd awakened from a dream—and that was when he realised how hungry he was.

"Are we close?" he asked. "My stomach is beginning to ache."

"Aw, you poor dear, did the house-elves not fix a big enough bweakfast for wittle Nicowas?"

With a roll of his eyes, Nicolas' stomach gurgled and grumbled, and he fixed upon Claire a gaze of mingling desperation and consternation.

"We should be just around the corner, you pathetic prat," she said. "Let's go."

A wooden sign with the word "Seychelles" engraved in cursive and painted green and silver soon appeared above them on their left, and Nicolas did not hesitate to enter. He bustled in by throwing the door open, Claire close behind him, and was taken aback at the scene within. Mundungus had been correct—there were only six people inside: two men sitting at the bar, one bartender, one server, a red-headed woman sitting alone, and an elegant black woman playing the piano in the corner.

All heads save for the pianist turned towards the door, and Claire felt the imprudence of Nicolas' impatience redden her cheeks. Nicolas, however, who was all audacity and no embarrassment, decided that the red-headed woman was Elise Canyon, and immediately made his way to her. Claire followed, sending apologetic smiles to the server, bartender, and other customers.

Once at her table, Nicolas immediately stood near her—the woman smiled but did not look at them. She drained her wine glass and continued eating.

"Good afternoon. Are you Elise Canyon?" he asked, smiling graciously. Claire stood back and rolled her eyes.

The woman did not respond until she had finished her meal.

"No," she said, smiling again. "Mundungus told me you'd be looking for her, though, so she took off early."

"You're joking," said Nicolas, whose temper rose. "Why'd you send her away? I have business with her!"

"You _think_ you've got business with her. Did you ever consider that Mundungus doesn't know a damn thing?"

"Fine—whatever—I don't need her. I need to find Otto Abner. That's who I'm after," said Nicolas. "Can you help me?"

"What business could you possibly have with a man like Otto? You two—you're practically children," she said, glancing disdainfully at Claire. Both women watched as Nicolas took a decidedly deep breath in and out.

"I'm looking to purchase some property," he said, trying to ignore his anger. He sat down and placed his laced hands upon the table as if they had been civil all along. "Age is of no consequence when enough money is involved."

"No, indeed, you believe money capable of anything, I'm sure. Yet your age _is_ of consequence, I'm afraid. You cannot legally own property until you're eighteen."

"Then we're in luck. I happen to be eighteen," Nicolas replied, his polite smile widening.

The woman stared at Nicolas hard and then glanced at Claire once more. The pianist has stopped playing, and the room quieted considerably.

"If you and your girlfriend are looking for a place to live, there are plenty of nice little flats in the city. You need not waste anyone's time."

"You're the one wasting my time."

"You're about the snottiest little brat I've ever had the displeasure of speaking with," she said, nearly spitting with disgust. "I don't have to tell you a damn thing."

"Calm yourself, Sophie, and leave us," said the pianist, who suddenly joined them. Her accent, which was unmistakably American, amused Claire and astonished Nicolas. The red-headed woman glared at them and left the table with a huff. "I apologize for her behavior. She is very defensive and protects me well. Mundungus indeed told us of your arrival, but because we could have no idea of your identity, I took precautions. My associate Sophie distracts, distresses, and dismisses our less favourable clientele. If you have money, sir, we can do business. Your friend is welcome to join us in sitting, of course. I am Elise Canyon, and it would please me to meet you both."

Elise Canyon's dark eyes were bright and clear, and her warm smile induced Claire to join them at the table.

"Are either of you hungry?"

"Yes," said Claire immediately, placing her hand on Nicolas' shoulder. "He'll be less angry once he's fed."

"Of course," she replied. "I'll be right back."

Elise Canyon then stood and disappeared into a back room, and Nicolas immediately turned to Claire to express his discontent. His expression was petulant, and Claire felt as though she were tending to a child... like she needed to kiss his forehead and comfort him. She settled for patting his shoulder.

"There has to be an easier way of doing business," he grumbled. "This is absurd. I just want to buy a bloody house."

Claire nodded, but she could not shake off the feeling that their struggles were just beginning. This Otto Abner man—whoever the hell he was—could hardly be found anywhere, and his associates were nearly as scarce. Why? What could explain such secrecy, such measures? Why would this woman need _protection_?

"There is more to this than we can perceive or know," replied Claire. Her guard had been up since they had entered and was not any lower now. "I am not comfortable in the least."

"Agreed," said Nicolas.

Elise Canyon reappeared moments later, a butterbeer in each hand. She sat, offered them a bottle opener, and allowed Nicolas to open the two drinks. After sipping on the familiarly warm and delicious beverage, they both relaxed.

"I spoke with my little brother, who happens to be our chef. In a few minutes, he'll bring out his signature dish for the both of you. My apologies again for how this all began. Our manners and methods are not, as you've observed, very proper. Now, you both know my name. Might I inquire as to yours?"

Nicolas and Claire glanced at each other, and Nicolas spoke for them.

"I am Nicolas Tennant, and this is my associate Miss Denson. Mundungus told me that if I was looking to purchase some property in London, Otto Abner was who I should seek. He then informed me that I must first find you. I had hoped for this to be a relatively uncomplicated process. It now seems unlikely."

"Depending on the size and location of the property, unlikely is a fair estimate," said Elise Canyon seriously. "Let us begin with this—what are you looking to buy? What sort of property? Location is incredibly important, as you may already know. Do you have any specifics in mind? A price range, perhaps?"

"Price is tertiary to location and size," said Nicolas. Elise Canyon took a pen and notebook out of her small purse and began writing notes. "I'm looking for something with a minimum of three bedrooms and two bathrooms, perhaps more, a spacious kitchen, and plenty of storage. I'm open to investing in larger properties. I'd like to be near the Thames."

Claire's eyebrows shot up. Nicolas was serious, and he sounded as though he had given this more thought than she realised. He wasn't looking for any old flat; it sounded as though he was looking for a home for all of them, herself included. Claire sat up straighter and brought her attention back to the conversation taking place.

"I have two or three locations already in mind," said Elise Canyon happily. "Are you primarily interested in houses or apartment buildings? There's a really nice apartment building in the Bermondsey area that overlooks the river and the park. It's full of Muggles, of course, but I could speak to the landlord to see about the top floor."

"The top floor?" said Claire, her eyebrows crinkling. "Like a... penthouse or something?"

"Sort of. You see, in newer Muggle apartment buildings, we've found that it's most convenient for witches and wizards to live above the Muggles. We rarely have to take the stairs or elevators, and it keeps them from being suspicious. The less they see, the better."

"Makes sense," mumbled Nicolas.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to show you any locations today. I need to contact my people and speak with Otto," said Elise Canyon. She smiled again. "I'm sure they won't have any objections. I will owl you tonight about our next appointment, Mr. Tennant. You seem like a fine couple."

Claire laughed uncomfortably and shook her head.

"We're not together—"

"Oh—I shouldn't assume anything, I guess. You know what they say about the word 'assume'!" she said, laughing brightly.

"No," said Claire and Nicolas at once.

"It makes an _ass_ out of _u_ and _me_ ," she said, smiling. "Maybe just an American saying."

Nicolas and Claire both laughed, and their food arrived a few moments later.

"I'll let you enjoy your lunch. It's on me today," said Elise Canyon. She stood, walked back to her piano, and began playing again.

As soon as she began playing, Nicolas tucked into his lunch. Claire ate with less enthusiasm, though the food was delicious, and watched as Nicolas finished his meal and stared disbelievingly at the plate.

"That was amazing," he said with the same sort of disbelief.

"I have to get back to work soon," said Claire. She couldn't eat everything she'd been served, and Nicolas' eyes wandered to her plate.

"Are you going to finish that?"

"No, probably not," she replied. Now she was the one feeling disbelief. "Are you _still_ hungry?"

"Erm—well—"

"Here, take it," she said, sliding the plate over to him. "I'm full."

"Are you alright?" asked Nicolas as he picked up his fork. "You seem—out of sorts."

"Yeah, I'm perfectly alright. I need to go back to work."

With that, Claire stood, her small purse slung across her, and pulled out her wallet. Nicolas, not sure what she was doing, stood as well.

"What're you—oh, Claire, you don't have to do that—"

Claire had taken out two silver Sickles and laid them on the table. Nicolas took them up and handed them back to her with one hand, and with another, laid a Galleon on the table. Before she could protest, Nicolas took Claire gently by the arm and led her away from the table. Soon they were outside and walking back to the library.

"That's something Madeline would have done. You're both too noble for the likes of me."

"You've never been a waitress," said Claire.

"Neither has Madeline," retorted Nicolas.

"Madeline understands people. She knows that there's a price for everything."

"And I don't?" he said, his blue eyes aflame. Claire scoffed and hurried her pace. "What's the matter with you? Are you angry because that woman mistook us for a couple?"

" _No_ ," she began defiantly, "but it's happened _three_ times today! First Liza, then that horrid Sophie woman, and then her. We can't go anywhere without people thinking we're an item!"

"It's that awful to be associated with me?"

"No," said Claire, her tone softening. "No. But I'm _not_ Margaret. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Who gives a damn what anyone else thinks? You never used to."

"Nick, I haven't been single for very long. It's... difficult to understand. I'm not sure how to act around others, even you. Men flirt with me or tease me and I hardly know how to behave. I spent three years being safely bound in love to someone else. I'm vulnerable. I don't know how to respond to compliments or anything anymore."

"If anyone hurts you, tell me immediately. I will have it taken care of," said Nicolas, his tone severe.

"Have I ascended to Madeline's level?" she cried, swatting his hand away. "Am _I_ in need of protection now? No one's trying to hurt me—they're trying to get me in bed."

"And a fine line there lies."

"And you called _me_ noble because I wanted to make sure the cook could buy some food of his own," said Claire, who rolled her green eyes. "You're impossible."

"Is that all? If you're still angry about anything, might as well get it all out now," said Nicolas as they continued walking.

"Yes, actually, there is _one_ more thing—don't you _ever_ again take me by the arm and lead me away if I have something to say or do. That was inexplicably rude and forceful and unnecessary. I am _not a child_ , and I command my own body. I know several spells that could forever ruin your favourite male parts. Don't make me use them."

Nicolas stared, horrified, at Claire. Then she smiled a wry smile.

"That's all. Let's go back now."

* * *

The next day, however, Claire was not free, and rather than meeting at Seychelles, Nicolas arranged to meet Elise Canyon at the Leaky Cauldron at 8 am. Oliver happened to not have any training until 10 am, so he agreed to join Nicolas for as long as possible.

The Leaky Cauldron bustled in the mornings with those coming from and going to Diagon Alley, those who had overstayed their welcome, those who were looking for rooms, and those who happened to prefer their breakfast mélange of lumpy porridge, lukewarm scrambled eggs, and thin pieces of "ham". Though there were still Azkaban Wanted posters of Sirius Black, they were fewer in quantity than they had been the summer before. The topic was hardly ever discussed anymore; though, when it was, people were most curious as to how he had entered and escaped from Hogwarts on three separate occasions.

No, the most popular conversation topic, one which seemed to encompass all of the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron that brisk Tuesday morning in late September, was the World Cup. The confusion with Barty Crouch's house-elf and Harry Potter's wand (about which several rumors had spread), the security which ought to have been so great, and the reappearance of the Dark Mark were all points on which several witches and wizards were keen to linger. And for those interested in the match itself, more could be canvassed. Mostafa was purportedly resigning ("retiring"), sending the International Association of Quidditch into a rather nasty power-vacuum tailspin.

As Oliver and Nicolas sat waiting for their appointment, they listened to and watched the guests and patrons around them. The World Cup was on most lips, and Nicolas couldn't help but roll his eyes at some of the rumors. He and Margaret had left after the match's end because she hadn't wanted to camp, so he naturally believed very little of what he had heard, as he hadn't been there to experience the chaos. He and Oliver eventually fell into their own discussion of the event.

"It really was mad," said Oliver, who was drinking only water. He had eaten breakfast already and watched as Nicolas devoured several eggs. "I thought it was a nightmare at first."

"But you all made it away safe, obviously," said Nicolas.

"We might have if it hadn't been for Claire. She got into it with some Death Eaters," said Oliver with a quick glance around the room.

"You're joking," said Nicolas, who dropped a bit of egg. He spent a moment trying to pick it back up with his fork before pressing Oliver for more information.

"What d'you mean? Claire's not dumb enough—"

"I mean that we were all looking around at what was happening, right after we came out of our tent, and before we could make any decisions, Claire bolted at the Ministry officials and the Death Eaters. She didn't even hesitate—just ran straight at them. We took off after her, and when we caught up with her, she was collapsed near the Weasleys, vomiting. Charlie Weasley was fighting off the nutter in the mask that had cursed her, and Percy was lying next to her, his glasses shattered and blood everywhere."

Nicolas hadn't prepared to hear about such an encounter. His attention, which had been properly fixed on his breakfast, was now fully on Oliver. His jaw was slack, his blue eyes bright.

"In short, you missed a good scrap," said Oliver with a shrug.

"No—what else happened?"

"Well… I remember Maddie going straight to Percy and Claire, so I tried to help Charlie. The Death Eater was drunk and completely unpredictable, from what I could tell. Once Maddie sorted out Percy, she turned to Claire—and I don't know how it happened, because Charlie, Percy, and I were all going at him—but when the Death Eater got a clear shot, he aimed at Maddie and Claire…."

Nicolas said nothing, but his expression told Oliver all he needed to know. He could see that his friend immensely regretted not having been there.

"He hit them with the Cruciatus Curse," said Oliver, his skin burning with the pain of the memory. "The only time I've ever heard Maddie scream like that was in the Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. when I fought the boggart. Claire just—she blacked out almost immediately, thankfully. I don't know what we would have done if they had both been screaming. Then Arthur and Bill Weasley showed up and the man disapparated. I held Maddie until she stopped screaming and shaking. When our parents showed up, my mum revived Claire."

Nicolas' jaw and hands clenched, and Oliver shook his head, perhaps in an effort to clear his mind.

"I'd no idea," said Nicolas. "I thought they were just messing around with a couple of Muggles and eventually they got it sorted out. I—I wish I'd been there, mate, truly."

"It's alright. I'm not sure Claire learned any sort of lesson from it, but it's made Maddie more anxious for the Auror Department to contact her. She's supposed to hear from them in October, I think."

"No, I know Claire didn't learn anything. She's still bold as brass. And you won't see Maddie very much, you realise, if she attempts to do both programs," said Nicolas. "Though it would appear that you don't see her all that often as it is. You're not in the best of spirits."

"I'm exhausted, Nick," he replied. "And no… no, it feels like I haven't seen her in ages."

"Why doesn't she just stay with you at night?"

"She said she would never want to go back to that manor if she stayed with me every night," said Oliver, who rolled his eyes.

"I still don't understand why you two haven't... consummated your relationship. It's quite baffling, y'know."

"She's anxious," said Oliver, with a shrug.

At this, Nicolas laughed, but he stopped when he saw that his friend hadn't joined him. Oliver Wood truly was in a bad mood.

"Unlike Claire and Richard, we are not in any hurry; and, unlike you and Margaret, our relationship has a much stronger foundation than shagging; and, when it does happen, it won't be any concern of yours or Claire's or anyone else unless Maddie or I say so."

Nicolas received the insult and suffered it in silence. He had no retort, for there was nothing to refute. As to it being no concern to him or Claire, Nicolas did his best not to roll his eyes.

"I've told you this before, but I'll remind you again," said Nicolas. "Claire and I both will both be able to tell when it has happened. You may not believe me, but Maddie will undergo an alteration of some kind, whether she's less anxious or more bashful or more open. Her temper will change."

"That doesn't worry me, so why should it worry you?"

Nicolas was silent again. He shrugged and focused on his eggs. Oliver's bad temper was usually caused by one of three things: hunger, sleep deprivation, or Madeline. As this case seemed to be touched by all three, Nicolas kept his angry remarks to himself. A temperamental Oliver would not make a good impression on Elise Canyon; Nicolas therefore stood, walked to the bar, and ordered his friend some food. When the plates arrived, Nicolas pushed it over to him.

"Eat and cheer up, you massive prat. We've got to charm this lady so I can buy us a nice place to live. I need you to be in a better mood in about ten minutes' time. Get to work," said Nicolas, staring at his friend with all seriousness. "I'll order some coffee or a butterbeer or firewhiskey—whatever you need to cheer up. Madeline loves you and is safe and learning loads of things that will benefit us in the future. Your life together will begin soon. Stop pouting and get it together, mate."

Oliver began grudgingly eating. They both ordered some coffee, and once Oliver was full and awake, Elise Canyon finally showed up. Oliver made a decided effort to be less grumpy, and Nicolas was thankful.

"Hello, Mr. Tennant! Good morning. So, not with your _associate_ today?" was Elise Canyon's smiling greeting. She winked. "Too bad—she was delightful."

"No, no—she's a busy woman," Nicolas said with an affected grin. When he noticed Oliver's apparent confusion, Nicolas winked and returned his attention to Elise Canyon, who was looking around the Leaky Cauldron.

"And who is this?" she inquired as she turned to Oliver.

"Oliver Wood," said Oliver, who did his best to smile charmingly. He presented a hand to shake, and Elise Canyon took it. "Best friend to Mr. Tennant."

"Great, let's get going! I think the first location is the winner, but I have a few more in mind just in case," she said while extending her arm.

Were they going to side-along apparate to their locations? It seemed to be so. Nicolas placed his hand on her arm and Oliver followed suit.

The first location was in the park she had mentioned the day before, and she brought them to a large room with huge windows that overlooked the park. It was already furnished with plush-looking sofas, sturdy tables and bookshelves, and a gorgeous hardwood floor.

"This wood," said Nicolas, who was admiring the central coffee table, "what is it?"

"I believe they call it sheesham or Indian Rosewood. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Indeed," said Oliver, who had sat on one of the leather sofas and was looking at the end table to his right.

"Shall I give you the tour?"

Nicolas and Oliver followed Ms Canyon as she led them from one to another. The spaces were generally open and bright, the kitchen communicating well with both the entry room and the living space, and each of the four bedrooms were airy and optimally furnished. Nicolas was struck by the bedroom overlooking the Thames, while Oliver loved the room facing part of the park. The two bathrooms each connected to two of the bedrooms.

Oliver was impressed by everything, and Nicolas, though pleased, was not quite ready to commit. But each location that followed (one directly on the river with small bathrooms and less storage capacity, one with only three tiny bedrooms, and one with terrible natural lighting) proved more and more that the first would be the best. It was not long before Oliver had to leave and Nicolas was sitting down with Ms Canyon to work out a deal.

Elise Canyon was thrilled—Otto would be pleased, and even Dung would get a small cut of the profit for his recommendation. After Nicolas finished signing all of the paperwork (along with promising a huge sum of gold), Ms Canyon brought him back to the park to meet the landlord, a young man by the name of Nani Silvestri.

The afternoon grew stormy, and while they sat waiting in a small office on the ground floor of the apartment building, Nicolas watched the rain slashing against the window.

"Where is this bloke?"

"He said he'd be here by three," said Ms Canyon.

Nicolas stood, stretched, and walked around a bit. He was sick of sitting. It was 3:15.

"If Otto approves this deal—"

"Otto has already approved it. We await only the legal transfer of ownership and the amount promised," said Ms Canyon. "The building will be yours by the end of the week. You and your friends are welcome to move in at any time."

"Good. I wish this Silvestri bloke would show up. I have other affairs to which I must attend."

Since being home, Nicolas had begun picking up a great deal of his father's language, and the more time he spent with him, the more he learned.

Mere moments later, the young man presumed to be Silvestri strode in with another older man behind him. Ms Canyon immediately stood and smiled. The younger man had long brown hair which he folded into a messy knot at the back of his head, and the older man had a head full of thick grey hair. They both were carrying umbrellas and wearing nice trousers and dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. They were laughing and carrying what looked to be the leftovers of their lunch.

"Otto! Sir, I was not expecting you," she said, bowing ever so slightly.

"Nor was I expecting you, but _you_ ," he said, turning to Nicolas, "must be the Mr. Tennant I've been hearing so much of recently. I am Mr. Abner, or Otto, if you please. And this is Mr. Silvestri, the landlord of this fine building."

Nicolas bowed his head respectfully.

"I am Nicolas Tennant, and it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"Finally, eh? You went about this business far faster than most, young man. I suppose, though, that you knew what you wanted?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Indeed. I always have a healthy respect for a man who knows what he wants."

"Well, it's almost all settled. I just wanted Mr. Tennant to meet our Mr. Silvestri," said Ms Canyon, who looked at the young man expectantly.

"If you ever have any needs or concerns, or anything goes awry, I will be here to put things right," said Mr. Silvestri with a slight nod. Nicolas returned the nod. "If all goes well, you won't need me or my services."

"What a pair these two young men make! So formal and full of energy. Yes, I believe you'll be quite at home here, Mr. Tennant," said Otto Abner.

* * *

Oliver flew low to the ground and swore. He hated this drill, hated it more than being away from Madeline (or so he thought at the moment). As he approached the metal hoops, which were arranged in a series of sharp semi-circles and hopscotch-like rungs, Oliver took a deep breath in and out.

He could do this, but he was terrified of hitting one of the metal hoops _again_. The semi-circles weren't bad—he could fly in curves well enough—but the dynamic motion of hopping/flying between things his coach called the "jump hoops", which were set apart at odd distances, was a seemingly unconquerable beast. Oliver hadn't been afraid of Quidditch hoops until he met with this drill, but he had also never dislocated his knee in one before, either.

The thought of breaking a limb in two was nearly paralysing, but all he could do was keep flying. Madeline's face appeared briefly in his mind's eye, as did Nicolas', and it was an odd combination of both—the shame of disappointing her and his fellow Gryffindor, the shame of even feeling cowardice—which inspired him not to quit.

The semi-circles grew closest first, ahead on his right, and it took only nine seconds for him to complete the first set (his coach was pleased—Oliver's first attempt had been clocked at 15 seconds). He then swerved through the left semi-circles with ease (eight seconds), and the adrenaline and testosterone coursing through him provided a much-needed confidence boost going into the second half of the drill. Oliver had previously calculated that it was two breaths from the semi-circles to the jump hoops.

 _Breathe_.

 _In_.

 _Out_.

 _Again_.

 _In_.

 _Out_.

The jump hoops approached, looming larger and larger every millisecond, until there was time for nothing else. Oliver's accrued muscle memory and Quidditch dexterity were all that could be called forth at the moment; it seemed that his thinking mind was silenced in the few brief seconds as he flew from hoop to hoop, lying low on his broom and flying with all of his skill.

Once he had passed through the last hoop, Oliver flew over to his coach, who was grinning, and took a seat on the bench next to him, still breathing hard.

Oliver Wood and Richard Wister were alone on the pitch, much to Oliver's relief and gratitude. When completing this particular drill, there was to be no audience for the first month. This rule came into play only after loads of jeering from teammates induced several heinous injuries. That had been fifteen years ago, but the rule was still in place and would certainly be until Coach Wister retired.

"Your flying was excellent, as was your time. Much better than last week," said Coach Wister, who frowned as he remembered the knee-dislocation incident. "You were not the first to injure yourself in those hoops. You certainly won't be the last. To have completed the entire drill in less than 30 seconds—and on your second try—speaks volumes of your skill."

"Thank you," said Oliver breathlessly, who knew better than to say too much.

Coach Wister stood, and Oliver knew he had done well enough to be released from training early.

"Well done, Wood. I'll be informing Cass and Weni in the morning. See you at eight. Get some rest."

Oliver watched his coach disappear into the locker rooms and offices. For a few moments, he hesitated. He could go home to the flat he now shared with Nicolas, Margaret, and Claire, stuff his stomach with whatever Claire or Nicolas had managed to cook, and pass out. Madeline might even be there. She had taken to studying at the flat whenever she felt comfortable enough escaping from Gowling Manor, and she had already stayed with him once. He was hoping she would stay more often.

But he could also run the drill again. Oliver looked at the darkening sky and frowned. He felt, in his gut, that he needed to be prepared for whatever Cass and Weni, the team owners and ultimate decision-makers, could throw at him (he wasn't sure how vindictive they were), so he decided to run the drill again—this time, with no one watching. No pressure, just a practice round to get a better feel for the jumps.

"Lumos," said Oliver. He found some sports tape in his bag and peeled off his shirt. He then attempted to tape his wand to the upper part of his back. After a few moments of struggling, his lack of flexibility painfully obvious, he heard a soft female chuckle behind him. Oliver turned on his heel to see one of his reserve teammates, a woman by the name of Joanna Rateliff. She was American, a year or so older than him, and had thick curly brown hair. Her eyes were something between brown and grey, and her skin was a sun-kissed bronze. She was the only woman to have been recruited by Puddlemere in several years, and all of the men were either half or fully in love with her—except Oliver.

"Rateliff," he said, dropping his struggling arms, his surprise apparent. "You're not meant to be here."

"No one is supposed to be here," she said, eyeing him with an amused smile. Her broom, an American brand of which he knew very little, was in her left hand. She was wearing thin, skin-tight shorts, a sports bra that seemed too small for her, and her American trainers. "I had just gone for a run when I saw Coach Wister leave the offices, so I thought you'd be gone as well."

Oliver had a great deal of respect for his teammates, especially Rateliff. She was brilliant on the pitch—her flying was incredible, and she was a dangerously fast and accurate ambidextrous Chaser. He inwardly groaned every time she was on the opposing team, as he hated seeing her flying towards his goalposts. Off the pitch, however, his sentiments were less favourable.

"I thought I'd give the drill another go while no one was here," he replied.

Joanna's eyes flickered down to Oliver's lean torso and back to his face. It was not ordinarily in his nature to be embarrassed, but this woman had the ability to make Oliver's skin burn, and not in the way Madeline did. He suddenly regretted being shirtless. She set down her broom and drew nearer to him.

"I can help you with that," she said quickly. "You seem to be struggling."

"I'm not very flexible, I suppose—and it's alright, you can have the pitch," he said, sidestepping her. The idea of going home and eating his weight in spaghetti was suddenly far more appealing. But Joanna wasn't having it. She stepped up close to him and held out her hand, as though waiting for the tape.

"No—I insist. You were here to train, and if you hadn't done a great job, you'd still be training. Obviously you impressed Wister enough for him to let you go early, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't get some more training in."

Oliver found himself handing over the tape, and she stepped behind him and applied it, his wand secured to his back. Before she stepped away, she let her fingertips graze the length of his back. "And, as for the flexibility, I'd be happy to show you what I know. Yoga is _amazing_ ," she said, bending over and leaning into a handstand, from which she did a split and flipped out of the handstand. Her face was flushed and she beamed up at Oliver, her eyes bright and hungry.

"Maybe another day," he said, picking up his shirt and ripping his wand from his back. He instinctively said, "Knox."

But Oliver regretted it. It was nearly too dark to see, as Wister hadn't left any lights on, and Joanna found a way to wrap her small but strong arms around his waist. She pressed her breasts to him and began sucking on and biting at his ear.

"Oliver," she whispered, pressing her hips into his, "tell me that I'm not sexy. Tell me you don't want to take me to the locker rooms, rip my clothes off, and fuck me till I'm screaming your name."

Oliver felt blood rushing from his head to other parts of his body and panicked. His arms were still free and above his head, so he tried to gently pry her off by her shoulders. Stronger than his intentions, Joanna took one of his hands and pressed it to her chest—once he was momentarily distracted by her large and supple breast, she slid her other hand into his shorts and stroked him. He gasped and she grinned.

"I want you inside me," she moaned into his ear. "I can get you off better than her. I can do things to you she's never even dreamed of."

It was this—this mentioning of an unnamed 'her'—which brought Oliver back into his mind. This woman holding him was not Madeline, and the thought horrified him. Abandoning all of his previous gentleness, Oliver threw Joanna off him and to the ground. He hurriedly grabbed all of his belongings, including his bag and broom, and disapparated before she could speak another word.

Nicolas and Claire were in the middle of a Muggle chess match when Oliver arrived. Madeline was asleep on the comfiest sofa, a massive textbook splayed across her stomach, but he couldn't see her from where he was.

"Are you alright, mate?" asked Nicolas, slightly alarmed by his friend's shirtless, panicky appearance.

Oliver dropped his bag, placed his broom near the window (and out of the way), and walked into the kitchen without noticing Madeline.

"Oliver?" asked Claire. She and Nicolas followed their friend into the kitchen. Madeline's eyes opened, bleary and sleep-crusted, just in time to watch them walking away, and she silently watched them.

Oliver ate—it was Wednesday, so he had correctly inferred that Claire had made spaghetti—before he told them what had happened. Once he had explained everything to the best of his ability, telling them all about Joanna Rateliff: her abilities as a chaser, her being beautiful and beloved by all, how she came on to him and nearly seduced him. It was then that Madeline finally stepped into Oliver's view.

"Maddie! I didn't know you were here!" he said, both relieved and anxious. He was happy to see her, as she usually comforted him, but he was worried about how she'd react to his being seduced so easily.

"I'm so sorry that woman did that to you," she said, embracing him. He was still shirtless, though it didn't bother him anymore. Oliver sighed and shook his head.

"I wasn't on my guard. It was... partially my fault."

"She sexually harassed you. It's nearly the same thing Flint did to me," said Madeline, her tone serious. "Just because she's a woman doesn't mean she's not capable of harassment, and just because you're a man doesn't mean you're not capable of being a victim."

"You're just too damn sexy for your own good, sounds like," said Nicolas playfully. Madeline turned to slap his arm, but Claire was closer and faster.

"Shut it," said Claire, and Madeline turned back to Oliver, who still looked thoroughly exhausted and upset. She took his hands and pulled him out of his seat.

"Let's go shower, and you can tell me how the drill went. I know you were worried about it."

"Mmmm, group shower?" asked Nicolas, who received a withering glare from Claire. "What—Oliver's just so sexy—I can't help myself."

"You have a chess match to lose," she said.

"Do I? This is hardly chess, my dear. I have to move the pieces myself—what's the bloody point?!"

"You're just sour because you're losing to a Ravenclaw," said Claire, who laughed.

Her laughter—soon joined by some snarky comments from Nicolas—was the last thing Oliver and Madeline heard from their friends after they shut the door to Oliver's room.

He had been able to move in his things much more expediently than Claire and Nicolas, who still had their ridiculous no-magic bet going on. Claire had hired a moving company to move her furniture, and Nicolas, who hadn't known of the existence of such, was furious that he had moved nearly everything himself. It had taken Oliver less than three hours to magically move all of his furniture and items, but Madeline had insisted on his going through all of his old clothing and stuff to get rid of what he no longer needed or wanted, which had reduced his load by nearly half.

Oliver sat on his bed and groaned as he removed his trainers and socks. His bedroom was adjacent and linked to the bathroom he shared with Nicolas (Claire shared her bathroom with the empty bedroom), and Madeline walked into the bathroom while he removed his shorts. He collapsed on the bed and remained still until he heard the water running. Madeline was in her knickers when he entered the bathroom, and he smiled, taking comfort in knowing that her love was not reliant on his low percentage of body fat. Her eyes were glued to his, and she smiled sleepily—she was about as tired as he was.

They embraced and kissed, holding each other for a few moments before stripping down and stepping into the shower. Their first time being naked in each other's presence was still a little nerve-wracking, but they were both determined to just clean themselves. Soon they were talking and laughing, throwing soap bubbles, and washing each other's backs. Oliver told her of his success with the drill—no injuries this time, obviously—and she ranted about her immense reading load, which seemed to be increasing every week.

"On top of the four or five books Madam Gowling has us reading, I have McGonagall's books to memorize. I'm _good_ , I am—but I don't know if I'm this good. I don't think I'll be able to do all this and Auror training. It's just too much," she said as she rinsed her hair. "I don't know what I was thinking, honestly."

"You were thinking that these were all things you wanted to do, so you're going to do your best," Oliver replied. He paused and sighed heavily, looking at the shower wall rather than at Madeline. "I'm thinking that our group conditioning might be awkward tomorrow."

"No, listen," said Madeline. She pulled him close and kissed his chest. "If she's bold enough to touch you like that, she's bold enough to pretend it didn't happen. Since you're not going to tell your coach about it, you'll have to ignore her. She probably draws confidence from making you nervous. I think you'll be fine as long as you're not alone. And I'll be at your match on Saturday, so she'll see me then."

It wasn't long before they had brushed their teeth and climbed into bed. They spent a few minutes drowsily snuggling and eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Claire and Nicolas, however, were still up and separately busy: Claire was doing a crossword Liza had given her and Nicolas was finishing up the dishes by hand.

"My hands are turning into prunes," he whined.

"They are not," mumbled Claire, the clicky end of a ballpoint pen pressed to both of her lips. "You'll live, I promise."

Nicolas turned to glare, but he had lost her attention once more. He just barely finished the last dish when there was a gentle knock on the door.

The two looked at one another and both expressed some sort of confusion, but it was Nicolas who walked to the door and opened it. There stood a man Claire had never seen before. He was tall, had long brown hair—long enough to fold it into a knob at the base of his crown—and was generally more well-groomed than most of the men she saw on a regular basis. Perhaps it was his attire—he was dressed as nicely as Nicolas had last seen him.

"Mr. Silvestri! Welcome—would you like to come in?"

"Sure," he said, nodding and smiling politely. His eyes found Claire, and he was about to greet her when a loud pop announced the arrival of Margaret, who was dressed in a slinky black dress and matching high heels.

"No one knows how to throw a bloody dinner party anymore," she cried as she slung her heels off and collapsed onto one of the sofas.

"Mr. Silvestri—"

"Call me Nani, if you please," he interrupted. "I am not so much older or above you that you must maintain such a formality."

At the sound of a stranger's voice, Margaret sat up and looked at their guest. Her expression was wholly unreadable. At the glance of Nicolas, however, she stood and greeted him.

"This is Margaret Bradbury, my girlfriend, and Claire Denson, our friend and roommate. The other two have already gone to sleep, I'm afraid," said Nicolas.

"Oh, is Maddie here?" asked Margaret.

"Would you like something to drink, Nani?" asked Claire. "We have—"

"Oh, no, please don't trouble yourselves on my account. I will stop by at a more convenient time," he said, frowning.

"You must eat with us one night," said Nicolas. "Please, allow us that."

Nani Silvestri nodded, smiled briefly, and bowed. Before much more could be said or done, he had gone.

"Who the bloody hell was that?" asked Margaret as she fell onto one of the sofas again.

" _That_ ," replied Nicolas, "was our landlord."

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Never Have I Ever**

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm not, I swear it! There aren't any Quidditch captains this year. We won't get to play."


	8. Never Have I Ever

**Chapter 8: Never Have I Ever**

"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain."  
\- James Baldwin

* * *

Despite her initial reservations, Madeline's happiness greatly improved once Oliver, Claire, Margaret, and Nicolas moved in together. Margaret presence's was not nearly as troublesome as Madeline had predicted, mostly because she was often gone. Madeline had also gotten over her fear of spending the night and was at the apartment more often than not, but she still ate meals at the Gowling Manor and had scheduled study dates with Crispin. Their flat had become Madeline's true home in a few short weeks, and the more time she spent getting to know her roommates' schedules, the better she understood them.

Oliver had always been a heavy sleeper, even as a child. Now, with Quidditch practices varying from morning to afternoon every day, he had become a predictable early riser and would take a swim every morning before starting the rest of his day. Oliver was also not terribly fond of staying up past midnight and would grow tetchy if not in bed by then. He ate probably half his weight in food and if he consumed alcohol, which was not often, it was always scotch. He and Nicolas had discovered an affinity for the Scottish liquor. Despite being consistently exhausted from conditioning, scrimmages, and practices, Oliver was happier than ever.

Nicolas too seemed to be in high spirits. He and Margaret could not often be found in the common area, which was quite alright with the other roommates; when they were present, Nicolas enjoyed learning to cook with Claire and reading with either Margaret or Madeline. He was one of the two night owls in the apartment and was not fond of being awake before 8 am. Nicolas' only true quirky habit (other than drinking milk straight from the bottle, which Claire quickly ended) was that of taking long, solitary walks around London. Sometimes Nicolas would see Nani Silvestri as he left, but he always politely refused a dinner or lunch invitation. Nicolas tried not to be offended but eventually stopped offering invitations to their quiet, lonely landlord.

Margaret was, for reasons generally unknown to everyone, often gone. It was ordinary for her to be missing for three days straight and then appear suddenly, clad only in a bathing suit, complaining about Muggle surfers harassing her. Madeline learned a good bit about her, though, despite (or because of) these disappearances. Madeline, Oliver, and Claire had always assumed that it was Nicolas who had commitment issues or that it was Nicolas who did not know what he wanted; yet, the more Madeline studied Margaret, it became increasingly clear that _she_ was the flighty, untamable one.

"Well, of course she's flighty," said Claire when Madeline broached the subject while they were alone. "I could've told you _that_. She's travelling and moving around more now than she ever could at Hogwarts."

"I just—I think it's telling, that's all. I don't think she's blameless for any of the relationship problems between her and Nicolas."

"Of course she's not! Maddie—I don't understand what you're getting at."

Madeline couldn't transfer her thoughts to words that were cohesive enough to evoke understanding, so she left the topic there. But Madeline didn't stop analysing Margaret, and when she got word that Elaine wanted to have a bachelorette party, she insisted on Margaret's being included. Madeline wasn't sure why she'd done it, except that when she and Margaret were alone, they enjoyed each other's company. When they were alone, Margaret wasn't showing off for anyone and was as Madeline had always wished her to be—calm, clever, self-assured, supportive, and suspicious. That was the other thing—the main attribute she'd discovered about Margaret—she was deeply suspicious (and therefore dismissive and cynical) of everyone and everything.

She began trying to confide in Margaret, but she would only give in return a shrug or dismissive wave of the hand. Yet if Madeline was ever concerned about her clothing, hair, or makeup, Margaret was there making superior suggestions and improvements—one day in late September, Madeline found that her old shampoo had been thrown out and replaced by a foreign, fancier bottle. The new shampoo smelled amazing and somehow made Madeline's unruly hair softer and more manageable. The label was written in Italian, so she immediately knew what had happened. Though Oliver wasn't thrilled about the smell of the new shampoo—it didn't smell of lavender—he was happy that Madeline was happy with the results.

One night when everyone had turned in earlier save for the two heavy readers, Madeline and Margaret, the former confronted the latter about the shampoo.

"Of course it was me," Margaret said, not even looking up from her book. "The bottle's written in Italian and no one else gives a shit about your stupid hair."

Madeline couldn't respond with anything other than a mild, "Well, I appreciate it."

Claire, though, was a different story altogether—she did her best to ignore Margaret and anything about her. Claire also loved her job and was soon promoted. She was the flat's resident chef, the other night owl, and the undefeated chess expert. Nicolas was the only one brave enough to keep trying to beat her, and she was thankful for the attempts. Since Claire insisted that she read enough during her time at work, she spent her time at the apartment doing other things, like practicing Transfiguration with Madeline, playing around with sewing, and cleaning. Though everyone noticed Claire's natural ability for homemaking, no one said anything: neither Margaret, with inevitable derision, nor Madeline, who always assisted in the cleaning and sewing projects.

Charlie Weasley was the other addition to their group, as he began spending the night not long after Madeline. He was hilarious and affectionate—more affectionate than Claire or Madeline had anticipated—and always willing to help them in any way. He usually left early in the mornings and arrived late, sweating, and hungry, much like Oliver. He told them about the dragons they had for the Triwizard Tournament and described them all with impressive detail.

Madeline really enjoyed keeping tabs on the dragons and hearing Charlie's stories, but she was mostly happy that Claire was moving on with someone who was also happy. Charlie was never grumpy, never angry, never upset. He was steady and even, thoughtful and affectionate. It was impressive, and it was Claire and Madeline's new favourite topic.

"It's like nothing can rattle him," said Claire one morning. She was plaiting Madeline's hair near the kitchen where Nicolas was learning how to make pancakes. Oliver and Charlie had just left, and Claire was in a great mood. "It's absolutely amazing."

"It's not natural," said Nicolas tersely. "Just like cooking. It doesn't make any bloody sense."

Claire's eyes rolled to Madeline without humor, but she went into the kitchen to see what Nicolas was referring to. He had already made the batter and was nervously watching his first pancake sizzle.

"What's the matter?" asked Claire.

"I'm worried I won't flip it right," he said quietly.

"Well, you won't know until you try, will you?" asked Madeline.

"I have to get to work," said Claire with a laugh and grin. "You two can handle this. I hope."

After Claire had disappeared through the Floo, Madeline rounded on Nicolas.

"You don't like Charlie, d'you?"

"Of course not! Strong, silent type. Such bollocks. He's making Claire go all soft and gooey!"

Nicolas easily flipped his pancake and grinned down happily at the result. He hadn't burned it. Madeline laughed.

"What's wrong with Claire being happy? She was always soft and gooey with Richard and it never bothered you," said Madeline.

"I just can't see him making her happy for long. What are they going to do when he moves back to Romania?" asked Nicolas.

Nicolas easily plated his first pancake. He looked at Madeline and she shrugged.

"She might know that he's a rebound and isn't expecting anything to come of it," said Madeline. "They'll make it work or they won't. Just like you and Margaret. Just like Oliver and I. You do the damn thing or you don't."

"I just don't want her getting hurt again," he said quietly, his lips pursed as he poured more batter into the frying pan. "She deserves better."

* * *

Not long into their time together, Claire bought and set up a Muggle television and found a channel that played nothing but old "classic" films—it was this ability to watch Muggle movies that gave Claire true joy and completed the feeling of home. In the beginning, Margaret and Nicolas were appalled by the monstrous electronic device sitting in their gorgeous living area, and Madeline and Oliver could feel only amusement at Claire's quirks.

After the first movie night, though, during which they watched _Casablanca_ , no one said anything against the television. In fact, the next day, Oliver asked if wizards watched Quidditch matches on the device, and Margaret raved about the women in the film. Weekly movie nights soon became a tradition.

In this fashion, October arrived and greeted them with a decisive chill, an explosion of pumpkin-themed items in the Muggle stores, and a plentiful array of colourful leaves. Oliver's first match occurred the same day as Madeline's meeting with McGonagall, but thankfully the match was in the early morning and the meeting later in the day.

Madeline, Nicolas, Margaret, Claire, and Charlie all arrived at the pitch together, and Oliver found them, clad in his Puddlemere reserve gear, before the match. He was giddy with excitement and couldn't stop grinning, and Madeline's heart swelled with pride. Though it was not an official League match, it was Oliver's first match with the team he'd loved for so long. It was a friendly match for the reserves of Puddlemere and Falmouth, and Oliver was eager to finally test his honed skills.

The match did not last long, as the reserve Puddlemere Seeker was highly skilled. Oliver did not allow a single Quaffle to pass, and Puddlemere won handily. After the match had ended, the group began making their way towards the point at the north end of the stands where they were to meet Oliver as he exited the locker rooms. Madeline sighed and admitted to Claire that Joanna Rateliff, who she was determined to hate forever, was a decent Chaser. Nicolas and Charlie both heard her and nodded.

"She's skilled, that's for sure," said Charlie. "I can't help but wonder why an American team didn't sign her."

"A history of inappropriate behavior, perhaps?" asked Claire, who was frowning.

"Decent female Chasers probably aren't a rarity in a country as large as the US," said Nicolas with his usual audacity. "She's nothing special."

Oliver arrived, red-faced, sweaty, and excited, with his team not far behind him. He ran to Madeline and lifted her into his arms, and as they kissed, his teammates emerged from the hallway. They grinned at each other and he began introducing her to his team, including Joanna Rateliff, who was charming, beautiful, and cheerful. She soon attracted a group of her own, and Madeline was able to have an actual conversation with the reserve Seeker, a man named Górski, who hoped to one day return to Poland and play for their national team.

"You did an excellent job," Madeline said as Oliver walked away to greet Charlie and Claire. "I was supposed to be watching Oliver but found my eyes drawn to you. You'll be promoted soon, I'm sure."

"You have a great deal of confidence in me," he replied with a humble laugh. "I am no Viktor Krum."

"You're not far off," she said, smiling. "Oliver says you work very hard."

"Oliver is the only person who works harder," he said, smiling in return. "He will go far, I am certain. He does not know it, but they have been watching him closely. I would not tell him—he does not need the extra pressure."

Madeline nodded to show that she understood.

"He is happy to be doing what he loves," was her response.

"As am I," he said. "And he is fortunate to have such a faithful companion for his journey."

Madeline felt her cheeks flush—she had never considered herself in that respect. Supposing that life truly was a journey, with paths to be followed and wrong turns to be made, it would make sense to have a "faithful companion."

"I'm not as charming as some," said Madeline. She thought directly of Rateliff but did not reveal her thoughts by turning to look for her. Górski needed no such indication and glanced at the American woman of his own volition.

"There will always be those who are short-sighted and shallow. Your spirit doesn't seem to be clouded with envy or rotting from bitterness. We will all need such spirit soon enough. Faith, courage, love—the world at large desperately needs these things."

Madeline stared, wide-eyed and open-hearted, at this man—no older than 25—who seemed so wise and beyond his years. Madeline was at a loss—she knew not what to say, or how to respond. He smiled with embarrassment and shook his head.

"This is what I meant—I have known you for mere minutes, and already I am confiding more in you than anyone else outside of my hometown."

"You are kind, and I'm humbled by your description of me."

"I see now why you are precious to him," he said, glancing at Oliver. "But I must warn you—darkness is coming. You… radiate. You are a light, moja droga _,_ and must remain so."

Madeline balked.

"What d'you mean by darkness? What're you talking about? D'you mean what happened at the World Cup?"

"That was a... minor prelude."

Madeline's wide gazed shifted from wonder to horror.

"How d'you know?" Madeline whispered.

"You are young, and you have not seen much of the world. Ask your elders what they think—what they've seen. Learn from them. The Dark Lord still has followers everywhere—your towns and mine, here and abroad. Be cautious. It soon won't be safe for Muggleborns. Oliver will try to shield you, but you must be vigilant. Choose your friends and enemies with care."

His gaze shifted to her friends, and Madeline glanced back as well.

"The tall, dark-haired one. He is trouble," he said in a low voice.

"That he is," Madeline mumbled with mild disdain. They were whispering again.

"No, Madeline Palmer, not petty trouble. His father is known."

" _Known_?"

Górski could only nod, as Oliver was approaching them again.

"I knew you two would hit it off," said Oliver happily. Madeline smiled at him and took his hand.

"I must depart, unfortunately. It is my mother's birthday, and I dare not miss it," said Górski. He nodded at the pair of them, and Oliver embraced him like a brother. Surprised but not displeased, Górski smiled broadly. "You were excellent today, my friend, and it was a pleasure to meet the person most precious to you. You must keep her safe. Remember my words. _Remain so_."

Górski then disapparated, and Oliver laughed, as he was still thrilled about having won the match. His mind was still overloaded with adrenaline, so he could not focus on words and their implications. Madeline, however, was in a perfect state to receive such foreboding wisdom. She would never forget her conversation with Górski, and it was still on her mind around lunchtime when she arrived in Hogsmeade.

* * *

The small town was already dotted with patches of snow, though it would blanket the area in a month or so, and there were students milling about every store. Few recognised her, and even fewer made an effort to do anything but wave. There was a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs outside of Honeydukes who offered to buy their House Mum some candies, but Madeline politely declined, saying she needed to meet with McGonagall. This wasn't strictly true, as she was half an hour early, but she was chilly and wanted some tea. So she made her way to the Three Broomsticks, which was already packed full of students and professors. She was spotted first by Professor Sprout, who was sitting with Flitwick and Sinestra. They were all pleased to see her and spoke to her earnestly about her Healer training.

"I know Charms wasn't always your favourite class," said Professor Flitwick, "but I'm happy to know I've prepared you well enough to be a Healer."

She told them of Oliver, Claire, and Nicolas; but then, of course, they asked of Richard and the others in their year. She hadn't seen Temperance, Murray, Kendra, or Peter in months, and had no idea what they were doing or hoping to do. She then dismissed herself to the bar to get some tea from Madam Rosmerta.

"Maddie Palmer," she said, smirking. "Here without that handsome burly brute of yours?"

"Brute? Come now, Rosmerta, you know Oliver wouldn't hurt a fly," said Madeline as she took a seat at the bar.

"If the fly insulted or injured _you_ , dear, he'd squash it to nothing," said Rosmerta. "What'll you have?"

"Just some hot tea, if you please. Any kind. My throat's feeling a bit sore. Oliver had his first match this morning and I suppose I shouted a tad more than I realised."

"You married yet?"

"No."

"Plans?"

"Patience?" said Madeline with an awkward smile.

"Fair enough, dear. You're still young."

With that she bustled away, set up the tea kettle, and sorted out several other customers before returning the Madeline with a hot cup of plain English tea.

While she was waving away the steam in the hopes of making it drinkable in time for her meeting, someone recognised her messy, reddish-brown plait and felt their heart skip a beat.

"Madeline?" he asked, his tone expressing his disbelief.

She turned around to see that Cedric Diggory had called her name, and he was not as she remembered—the lad had grown taller, fitter, and more handsome, though she wasn't sure how that was possible. He was a stunning young man in the full bloom of youth.

"Cedric?" she asked, expressing the same disbelief. "Is that really you?"

They grinned and hugged—they were both so excited that they didn't notice that the girls who had followed Cedric into the Three Broomsticks were visibly upset by their embrace. Cedric took the seat next to Madeline, and she placed her hand on his arm in what she felt was a fraternal way.

"It's so good to see you! I hadn't thought of letting you know I'd be here today," said Madeline. "But I'm happy to see that coincidence hasn't abandoned us entirely."

"What're you doing here? Is Oliver with you?"

"No, I'm meeting McGonagall soon. She's been too busy to meet until today—what with the Triwizard Tournament happening! You have to tell me all about it! Quickly!"

"I'd love to—but first tell me—how are you? I've missed you entirely too much not to hear you speak."

"Oh, Ced, I'm great. I'm in training to become a Healer. Everyone keeps saying I'll be offered Auror training as well, but that's yet to happen, so we'll see."

"D'you like it? Healer training?"

"It has been nothing but studying for nearly two months, but it'll get better once we start our practical training."

Rosmerta came over, smiling broadly at Cedric.

"Hello," he said happily. "Might I have a butterbeer?"

"Anything for you, doll," she said, sweeping away. His drink arrived a moment later.

"Alright, so tell me _everything_!"

"Honestly, you may know more than we do at this point. Dumbledore announced at the first feast about the tournament, but then we found out that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be arriving at the end of the month, probably near Halloween."

"And the first task will take place about a month later. At least, that's what Charlie Weasley told Claire."

"Charlie Weasley—with your Ravenclaw friend Claire Denson?"

"It's a bit of an odd pairing, don't you think?"

"Perhaps—I don't know either of them particularly well, so who am I to say? But tell me more—are you and Oliver still madly in love?"

"Perhaps," she responded, mimicking him playfully. "What about you? Are you thinking about entering? Can you imagine a _Hufflepuff_ winning the Triwizard Tournament? And _how_ are you not on a date? Every girl in Hogwarts will be in love with you soon, if they aren't already."

"They're allowing only students seventeen and older to enter, so… yeah, I was considering it," he said with his traditional bashful grin. Madeline smiled fondly at her old Quidditch Captain. "And I am meeting someone later this afternoon."

"Who?!" Madeline cried.

At this, Cedric turned quite pink, and she was sure it had more to do with a girl than the butterbeer.

"Take a wild guess," he said quietly.

"Is it Cho Chang?" she asked in almost a whisper.

Cedric nodded, and Madeline laughed.

"That's beautiful! You're both gorgeous—it only makes sense."

Cedric grinned, took a sip of butterbeer, and frowned.

"I've heard that Harry Potter's got a thing for Cho Chang, too—"

"He's not the only one, I'm sure—"

"Yeah, but—it's _Harry Potter_."

"He's an unlucky fourth year! How can he be any competition for you?"

"I'm not sure, but I feel like he'll find a way. He always does."

"Whatever—look, Cedric, listen to me. You are probably the best-looking and sweetest lad at Hogwarts right now. Who's your competition? Roger Davies? He's got a feeble chin and lumpy arse, and he's worthless as far as character goes. Did they make you Quidditch captain again?"

"No—there's no Quidditch this year."

"You've _got_ to be joking."

"I'm not, I swear it! There aren't any Quidditch captains this year. We won't get to play."

"I suppose it makes sense—when would you have time? Do you know who else will try to compete from Hogwarts?"

"I've heard Angelina Johnson will make a bid from Gryffindor, and Roger Davies, of course—"

Madeline snorted her disapproval.

"I know the Weasley twins are going to try to hoodwink the impartial judge, whoever it may be," Cedric continued. "They're 17 in April. I'm not sure about anyone else."

"Well I have no doubt that if your competition is such, you'll not have a hard time winning. The Triwizard Tournament is so old it's basically myth. It's… strange that they happened to bring it back this year in particular."

"What do you mean?

Madeline's expression must have given her away—she was thinking of the foreboding message she'd received only hours ago. What if the timing had been perfect… what if she was meant to spread the warning?

"I'm just wary, and you should be too," she said, frowning. She lowered her voice, and Cedric leaned in to hear her. She took his hand. "This is going to sound… paranoid, probably, but just hear me out. It would be great if you entered and won and became a Hufflepuff hero, it would, but I want you to consider _not entering_ as well. I've done some research—thanks to Claire, who works at the library in London—and loads of people have _died_ in this tournament. _Died_ , Cedric. This isn't child's play. It's not _fun_. I'm not saying you can't handle it, because I know you could. Just… you _have_ to be careful. I was here before Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, and nothing weird _ever_ happened; but as soon as that poor boy arrived—bam! Voldemort hiding under Professor Quirrel's turban, the Philosopher's Stone, the Heir of Slytherin, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black and dementors plaguing the school—there are people trying to hurt him, Ced. If this tournament's another way to do that, they'll—"

"But Potter's not seventeen. Dumbledore wouldn't let him enter."

"I'm just saying that these people will find a way. The Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets were both impossible myths at one point too, just like the Triwizard Tournament."

"I see what you mean."

"Ced, _please_ be careful this year. I have a bad feeling about this tournament."

"I wish you could be here with me," he said, looking down at his hands. In that moment she saw just how young Cedric truly was. He spoke as if he were a child wishing for an impossible Christmas present—resigned yet still so hopeful. She stroked his hair as though he were still that child.

"Owl me as often as you can, alright? And if you can get me tickets to the events, I'll drop everything to be here for you."

His gaze found hers, and the adoration she saw there was mildly discomfiting. It was still, somehow, a fine line with him. She placed her hand on his forearm; they were still facing each other, but Madeline wanted his full attention.

"Oliver and I are still very much in love, Cedric. I care for him so deeply I could literally explode."

He closed his eyes tightly as though she had flogged him.

"Cedric, I'm telling you this for a reason. Look at me." When he obeyed, she smiled patiently. "Do not waste your heart space on me. I care about you a great deal, but I could never love you with the capacity you deserve. Cherish the open-hearted people around you and pursue what makes you happy, and know that love will come in its own time."

"You are full of wisdom today, Madeline," he said. She looked at her watch.

"I heard some this morning and felt the need to share it. Pursue Cho if she makes you happy, but know that there's a gulf between love and desire. Patience is the gulf that separates them. Patience and trust."

"Patience and trust," he repeated, nodding.

"I have to go meet McGonagall now," said Madeline with a frown. "She's probably already waiting for me. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but it will probably be several hours."

"So I shouldn't wait for you?"

"Dear me, no, please don't. Go enjoy your Saturday before all this mess begins. Flirt with Cho—make her blush, but not too much."

"She's always surrounded by a hoard of chatty, rude Ravenclaw girls," he said, grimacing. "She's hardly ever alone."

Madeline laughed and stood from the bar. Cedric stood too.

"I can tell you with some certainty that if you asked to speak with her, she'd happily leave her group. She probably dislikes half the girls that follow her around."

"Truly?"

"Yes—now where's Rosmerta gone? I've got to pay for my tea. She didn't even tell me how much it was."

"No—please, let me. You'll be late if you wait for her."

"Such the gentleman—here—" Madeline dug around in her purse for a moment, but Cedric gently took her arm and stopped her from finding her coins. She looked at him, saw his determination, and decided to let it be. Her heart swelled—she was proud of the man he was growing up to be, and she greatly looked forward to being his friend through to adulthood. _His children will be absolutely adorable!_

"Write to me," she said, pulling him into a hug. He held onto her as tightly as he dared without hurting her. "You mean a lot to me. Don't keep me in the dark, alright?"

"I promise to write."

"Even if Cho gets jealous?"

"I doubt she would—but, yes, even if Cho gets jealous," he said, smiling.

"Excellent. Stay safe," she said, waiving and running up the stairs to the parlour rooms.

The door to the room McGonagall had reserved was open, and Madeline found her chatting with Rosmerta and placing an order of food and gillywater.

"Hello! I'm sorry I'm almost late—I ran into Cedric Diggory, and he would hardly let me go," she said, taking a seat on one of the sofas.

"Hello, Madeline," said McGonagall. Today was a half-smile sort of day, Madeline could see. "You're not late."

"A close shave, though, I'd reckon," said Rosmerta. "Want anymore tea, dear?"

"Oh, yes please—only, let me pay for it. Cedric wanted to, even when I told him no."

"Your expense here will be covered by me," said McGonagall with something akin to surprise. "Order what you like."

"Tea please," said Madeline with a polite smile. "Thank you very much."

Once Rosmerta had left and closed the door behind her, McGonagall sighed and frowned. She looked tired, indeed, but Madeline knew better than to say so. Madeline took her purse and began extricating the Transfiguration books from the pile in her extended purse.

"So where would you like to begin? We can review the main points of the books I sent you, but if you feel comfortable with those spells and incantations, we can do a practical review," said McGonagall. "I was not sure how much time you've had to do any real practicing."

"I've practiced everything once or twice. Claire and I worked together through some of the more difficult spells, especially the human transfiguration experiments. The inanimate to animate is tricky, but we worked so much on that through school that it wasn't difficult to pick up. My mum was furious when I turned her wardrobe into a sheepdog."

"Oh yes, she told me," said McGonagall with tight-lipped smile. "She was not happy with me either."

"But Claire was brave enough to let me transfigure her a few times, and I didn't do anything terribly wrong that we could notice."

"Excellent. You're progressing naturally and fluidly to the study self-transfiguration. Eventually—"

Rosmerta burst in carrying their orders and by the time she left, McGonagall was so preoccupied with her food that their discussion dissolved.

"How's Hogwarts? I've heard a lot about the tournament, but I'd like to know how you and Dumbledore are faring."

"Well enough, I suppose. It's a bit alarming knowing that Igor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime will be here for several months, along with their 'best' students, but Dumbledore has brought Alastor Moody out of retirement to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year while they're here, so we're less worried."

"What about our students? Aren't you worried about them?"

"Of course I am!" said McGonagall indignantly. "I fought against this reinstatement of the Triwizard Tournament all summer. Severus and I both did."

"Snape?"

"Yes—Severus wanted the Defense position, of course, but Dumbledore refuses to entrust it to him, for whatever reason."

"Well, I told Cedric that I thought it would be a bad idea to enter."

"I sincerely hope he heeds your advice."

"He won't," said Madeline, realising that, if anything, she probably convinced him to enter. "He wants to bring glory to Hufflepuff and make his father proud. He always has."

"All we can do, as professors, is push them to prepare—if he's selected by the Goblet of Fire, he will have absolutely no help."

"Seriously?"

"None. He will be forbidden from asking for help or receiving it. Though cheating is apparently as much a tradition of the tournament as everything else."

Madeline kept to her thoughts for a few minutes while McGonagall ate her sandwiches. The room upstairs was colder than the crowded area downstairs, and Madeline attempted to nonverbally ignite a fire in the fireplace. It worked and she silently congratulated herself. She was still getting better at nonverbal magic.

"Professor—er, Minerva—"

"You may call me what you like, Madeline. You are no longer a student."

"Minerva, may I ask you a question?"

"What is it?"

"Well, I met a man today—an older man on Oliver's team—and he wanted to… well… _warn me_."

McGonagall sat up a little straighter and quirked an eyebrow.

"Warn you of what, precisely?"

"He said that 'darkness is coming' and that the incident at the World Cup was only a 'minor prelude' to what's coming. I don't know, professor. I wanted to tell someone about our conversation before I forgot it. He said that I…"

Madeline stopped, embarrassed to repeat what he said of her heart and spirit.

"Tell me everything you can remember, Madeline," said McGonagall quietly.

"Alright," she said, taking a deep breath and recalling everything that she could. "He told me to be cautious because the Dark Lord has followers everywhere, here and abroad. He told me to be wary of my friends—he even pointed out Nicolas and said that he was not to be trusted. He told me to be vigilant and ask my elders about the past. He told me that eventually Muggleborns won't be safe. It _scared_ me, professor. I was there, at the World Cup, when everything happened. I saw the Death Eaters. Claire and I were hit with the Cruciatus Curse. It's all very, very real, isn't it?"

"It is real, Madeline. There are old Death Eaters still at large. William Tennant, Nicolas' father, _was_ suspected but never had any shred of evidence against him—no one so much as named him during _any_ trial. If Nicolas knows anything, I would hope he would tell you or Wood. I could scare the life out of you if I told you what the dark times were like. For now, do not let fear consume your life or your mind. _For now_ , we are safe, and the best thing you can do is prepare yourself for a war you may never have to face. You must continue studying and practicing—become your best possible self, Madeline, and encourage others to do so as well."

Madeline nodded solemnly.

"This man you met—can you name him?"

"Do you suspect him of evil?"

"Perhaps, but either way he knows more than most. If you befriend him, be wary. Nicolas does not worry me—he has a good heart despite his father's furtive behavior. My primary concern for the time being is for you to become an Animagus without damaging yourself permanently. Dumbledore, Alastor, and I will keep careful watch over the school, but if you hear of anything—anything at all—let me know immediately. Until then, you must continue working hard."

McGonagall's response echoed the response she imagined Dumbledore or Lupin would give them, and that was a comfort.

"When I saw Professor Lupin, last term, the day he packed and left—he told me to never stop learning."

"He was not wrong," said McGonagall with a small smile.

She spent the entire afternoon showing McGonagall everything she had taught herself (and received only constructive criticism and praise) and departed from Hogsmeade feeling accomplished but exhausted. She hadn't eaten much, and when she returned to the flat, Claire had finished making dinner.

"What's wrong, Maddie?" she asked as Madeline took a seat near the kitchen. "You look—like maybe McGonagall wasn't kind to you."

"It's just been a long day," said Madeline. "Remind me tomorrow, and I'll tell you all about it. For now, food please."

But when Madeline recounted the events of that Saturday, she never mentioned Górski or McGonagall's response to his warning. She kept them both buried in her heart, because the more she talked about it, the more likely she was to fret and panic. So she told no one.

* * *

The next week, Madeline, Margaret, and Claire were all invited to Elaine's bachelorette party, and the letter indicated that Kendra, Temperance, and Penelope would also be in attendance.

"That bloody tart!" cried Margaret. "She thinks she can invite all of the women in our year and expect us to all somehow get along? What the hell's she thinking?"

Oliver and Nicolas had exchanged a glance at this outburst, and so did Claire and Madeline.

"She's probably thinking that it would be nice for us all to get together again…" said Claire, "which is strange, considering how easily she and Kendra ignored me for several years."

"She's more likely hoping that we can make her forget about how much her life's about to change. I saw her before the engagement was renewed. She cried—a lot. She didn't want this, and it's still being forced upon her. She's lucky that she's marrying a decent man, but she's going to have to hide a large part of who she is. She needs us now and will still need us in the future," said Madeline, who stood and walked to the writing desk at which Augustus stood on his perch. He'd come to live here since the move because he was so fond of Oliver (who gave him far too many treats), and that was fine with Madeline. Her words seemed to sober Margaret and Claire, and the men remained silent.

"I can respond for the three of us. Is there anything you'd like to ask?"

"When and where are we meeting?" asked Claire.

"Do I have to wear knickers?" asked Margaret.

* * *

Having the seven women of their year together was bound to be an interesting occasion, but Margaret was right—how were they all supposed to bond after seven years of forced separation by House and blood status? Madeline was determined to make it work, but she seemed like one of the few who were.

They agreed to meet at the flat in London because it had the empty fourth bedroom in which the ladies could get ready and safely leave all of their belongings. Oliver, Nicolas, and Charlie (who was now staying with Claire at least thrice a week) all sat in the living area watching the women as though they were one of Claire's Muggle films. The women had been instructed to shower, eat a large breakfast and lunch, and drink at least six liters of water before the scheduled meeting time of 4 pm, so Madeline, Claire, and Margaret were thus prepared. Margaret had also chosen a few preliminary outfits for each of the girls in the flat.

Elaine, Kendra, and another woman were the first to arrive. The woman unknown to them introduced herself as Amelia—she was 25, had lived in London and gone to Cambridge, and was to be their chaperone for the evening.

"Chaperone?" asked Margaret, looking highly offended. She turned to Elaine with obvious disdain. " _Why_ do we have a _chaperone_?"

Amelia didn't even blink.

"Because when you're all blitheringly drunk and running around a foreign city, even the most responsible of you will not be able to monitor six other women. I understand that you _feel_ fully capable of handling yourself, but we will be in areas heavily trafficked by Muggles. It's my job to make sure you don't go hexing random men who harass you in front of a crowd of on-lookers or lose a friend in a pretty-coloured fountain. Trust me—shit happens—you'll be happy I'm there."

Margaret shrugged, utilising her favourite move: silence.

"I'm also a well-travelled polyglot with a talent for photography, selecting drinks, and doing hair and makeup. It's not my job to deter you from having fun—I'll just be there guiding you, cleaning up the messes you've left behind, and documenting everything. You'll hardly notice I'm there."

That was when Penelope arrived.

"Penny!" said Claire, who ran to hug her old roommate.

As soon as Temperance arrived, Amelia told the men they needed to leave for two hours. Margaret immediately objected—partially because she hated authority, but partially because she wanted to tease Nicolas.

"You can't make them leave. Why should they? They _live_ here!"

"Because they aren't going to want to sit around watching us talk about makeup and dresses and hair and shoes and tampons and wedding planning and—"

"We get the picture," said Oliver, whose hands were held up in a defensive position. "Two hours?"

"They'll all be in that bedroom ready to show you their final form at six," said Amelia, who nodded at Oliver. He stole a kiss from Madeline's forehead before turning to leave.

"Our 'final form'?" asked Temperance quietly.

"For tonight, yes."

"Well, have fun, ladies!" said Nicolas as the men left.

"I should have brought Peter," said Kendra, who stared sadly at the door. "He could've spent time with them."

Amelia worked like clockwork—the men were gone by 4:15 pm and that was when she pulled out a few bottles of wine and a cheese plate.

"You're allowed one glass before we get ready and one class after," she said as she skillfully opened each bottle. "Any more than that and you'll all be trashed before we even do your makeup."

They then spent fifteen minutes asking Elaine about the wedding—she ended up inviting all of them, each with a guest—and then moved on to conversations about wine and cheese pairings, which apparently Amelia had memorized.

"And because we're drinking a Sauvignon Blanc, I've brought goat cheese, gruyère, and le brouère for optimum pairings. But there are other cheeses to sample and enjoy."

"What's your favourite wine, Amelia?" asked Elaine.

"This, actually," she said, indicating the bottle nearest her. "It's what they call a 'New World' Sauvignon Blanc because it was produced in New Zealand (rather than France or Italy or Spain). It's produced in several areas, but this one is by far my favourite."

Margaret rolled her eyes, and Madeline was done. She stood up, grabbed Margaret forcefully by the forearm, and pulled her away.

"Excuse us—we'll return in a moment," said Madeline. Margaret, who flashed a huge false grin at the other women, complied rather more willingly than Madeline had expected.

Once they were alone in Oliver's room, where Madeline was naturally most comfortable, she let go of Margaret's tanned arm.

"Are you _really_ feeling threatened by a more knowledgeable, self-assured woman? That type of women is your favourite! And why can't you just accept that this woman is going to be shuffling us all over the globe for the night and just relax and have fun? That's what you _always_ like to do! Why are you being the petulant, uptight one? That's usually my role."

"Because I didn't ask to be invited into this pity party," said Margaret quietly. "I feel for Elaine, I truly do, but I'd rather be reading and intermittently having sex with Nick. Not that the _virgin_ would understand."

Madeline hit her forehead with her palm. So _this_ is how it would be?

"If you're going to be a bitch the whole night, leave. We don't want the Margaret with an attitude with us. _I_ asked Elaine to invite you because _I_ wanted to party with you, _I_ wanted to get to know you better, _I_ wanted your advice, and apparently I made the _mistake_ of thinking that you'd enjoy travelling with us and seeing us all drunk. I'm sorry I was wrong. If this isn't what you want to do, that's fine. Just leave."

With that, Madeline turned and left the room. She rejoined the ladies sitting around drinking wine and sampling cheeses, and a few moments later, Margaret rejoined them as well.

Amelia could have said something snarky like, "Have a nice chat, ladies?" but she didn't, and both Madeline and Margaret respected her for her silence on the subject. After a little more chatting, Amelia commanded everyone's attention.

"Alright, so—before we start getting ready, we're going to play a get-to-know-each-other game. It's not difficult, so do your best to be honest. It's called 'Never Have I Ever'. It is apparently commonly played as a drinking game, but we will be doing plenty of drinking later; so, for now, I want everyone to raise both of their hands with all ten fingers visible. We will each take turns speaking, and when we do, we must say something we've _never done_. If you have done something that another lady has mentioned, you must put one of your fingers down. The last woman holding up her fingers wins. So, for example, I could say, 'Never have I ever seen Hogwarts', and you would _all_ have to put a finger down. Because I know you all met there, I could easily do this, but I won't—not _yet_. I will let Elaine begin."

"Wait, you've really never been to Hogwarts?" asked Kendra, her eyes large and gaze astonished.

"No. My mum wanted me to have the option of living a Muggle life, so she put me through Muggle schools," said Amelia. "I went to university and everything."

"How was it?" asked Claire, who was sincerely curious.

"We can talk about that later. For now, let's begin the game. Elaine, you must confess to us something you have _never done_."

Elaine was pensive for a moment, and then she smiled.

"Never have I ever—er—well… never have I ever _kissed a girl_."

Kendra, Penelope, Madeline, and Claire laughed. Amelia and Temperance smiled. Margaret cursed. All of the women looked around at each other—Amelia, Margaret, and Claire had all lowered a finger.

"Claire!" cried Penny. "You?!"

"Margo and I did once," she said, shrugging. "It was all right, I guess."

Margaret glared and Claire stuck her tongue out.

"Kendra, you're next," said Amelia, who was unabashed.

"Oh, dear," she said, frowning. "I can't think of anything!"

"It could be anything. Take a minute," said Amelia.

So Kendra did. A few minutes passed, in which a few of the girls offered suggestions, but she was indecisive and scared.

"Never have I ever… been to France?"

There was a collective, good-natured groan, and everyone but Kendra lowered a finger.

"All of you have been?! Except me?!" cried Kendra, feeling ashamed.

"It's alright," said Elaine soothingly. "We'll fix that tonight."

Kendra pouted but allowed her turn to pass to Temperance, who had already chosen her statement.

"Never have I ever been in detention," she said proudly.

Margaret cursed even more loudly this time, and she, Kendra, and Claire each lowered another finger. Penelope, who was next, cried out.

"Temperance, that was _mine_! Uuuughh I don't know what to say now."

Madeline watched as Amelia concealed her deep amusement. When their eyes connected, Amelia winked.

"Alright, alright—never have I ever… erm… owned a pet."

"You're _joking_ , right?" asked Margaret. "You're bloody joking."

"No! My mum hates animals, especially dogs and cats. She hates birds too," said Penelope. "It's pretty sad, actually."

Everyone but Penny and Claire lowered a finger. Madeline's parents had owned a dog when she was pretty young, so she supposed that counted.

Claire was next, and she had to think for a few minutes.

"I guess Richard was technically half-ginger, wasn't he?" she muttered.

"Were you going to say never have I ever dated a ginger? Singling out Penny? While dating her boyfriend's older brother? How rude," said Madeline, who was laughing.

"Fine! Never have I _ever played Quidditch_!" she said, staring challengingly at Madeline. "Yeah—I went there."

Madeline was the only one who lowered a finger, and she looked around at the women completely awed.

"None of you? Ever? Even for fun—someone's back yard or the like? _Really_?!"

The women all shook their heads, their reasons their own, and Madeline frowned.

"How sad. Margo—you next."

"I have no bloody idea what I could possibly say that would help get some of these ladies out—you've got your virgin trump card—"

"I _was_ planning on using that," admitted Madeline with a grin and a nod.

"Never have I ever—erm—well, I've never dated a ginger or a half-ginger," said Margaret. She looked at Claire and Penelope, who both lowered a finger. Amelia did as well.

"I'm sorry, truly," said Madeline with a grin, "but—never have I ever had sex."

There was another collective groan. Temperance was the only woman who did not lower a finger, and she was in the lead with eight fingers left.

Amelia was next.

"I know you'll hate me, but as I'm losing—never have I ever been to Hogwarts."

Everyone lowered a finger save for Amelia, and the tally (counted by fingers down) stood thus:

Amelia: four

Elaine: four

Kendra: four

Temperance: three

Penelope: four

Claire: six

Margaret: six

Madeline: four

"Alright, so, one or two more rounds should do the trick," said Amelia. "Don't be afraid to open up. We will be doing a lot of fun and new things tonight. Elaine?"

"Never have I ever… slept in the Slytherin Common Room," said Elaine. She looked at Temperance with a pout. "I'm sorry! But you were winning—we're all on equal footing now."

"I see," she said, smiling and narrowing her eyes at the same time. "Some friend you are."

"Ooo!" said Kendra excitingly, bouncing in her seat. "Never have I ever snogged a Ravenclaw!"

"Damnit, Kendra!" cried Claire and Margaret simultaneously. They both lowered a finger, as did Elaine and Temperance.

"Keep up with these House divisions and I will certainly win," said Amelia with her eyebrows raised and a keen smile.

"Tempy—who—" asked Elaine.

"Peregrine—in fourth year. Huge mistake. On that note—never have I ever been to the United States," said Temperance, looking pointedly at Amelia, who graciously lowered a finger. Margaret, too, lowered another.

"I hate this game," she said, frowning. She was holding up her peace fingers and glaring around her. She was definitely losing.

"When have you been across the Atlantic?" asked Claire with some surprise.

"Several times. My family likes to travel, remember?" she asked, with severe disdain.

Penelope was next, and she was ready.

"Alright—never have I ever been Head Girl."

"OH COME ON," said Madeline. " _Penny_!"

"Bitter much?" cried Claire with a snort.

Everyone burst with laughter, and Madeline and Amelia both lowered a finger.

"I was Head Girl at my school as well," she said with a shrug. "That's how you get into Cambridge."

Claire, who was still laughing, waived her three fingers around in attempt to indicate that she wasn't ready. When Claire regained herself with several deep breaths, she sat up straight and nodded.

"Time to use the big guns. Never have I ever… had a crush on Oliver Wood," said Claire imperiously.

Every woman save for Claire and Amelia, who did not know Oliver, lowered a finger. Madeline's jaw dropped. Kendra's crush was understandable—she had been the only Gryffindor girl in their year and therefore saw Oliver all the time. She also had had a thing for Charlie, Peter, and larger Quidditch-playing men. Margaret was fond of most men, so again, not surprising. But Elaine, Temperance, and Penelope—three very different girls—she did not understand.

"Elaine?" she asked.

"Like I ever would've told you," said Elaine, her face drooping with guilt. "You two were always together. As soon as any of us developed any feelings for him, we immediately moved on. At least, I did. It was like he never even _saw_ us."

"She's right," said Margaret quietly. "He didn't talk to me for weeks after we snogged."

Madeline said nothing.

"Oliver's just a lovable guy. It's no big deal," said Kendra with a shrug. "Though I think Claire's lying through her teeth."

"Excuse me?" said Claire, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. "Madeline and I have been best mates since we were _eleven_ —you don't think I knew _from day one_ what he meant to her?"

Kendra retreated, her right hand, and all five fingers, up in defense. Margo's eyes had grown large from surprised amusement.

"I'm just saying—you said the word crush, and any little bits of feelings—"

"I was in love with _Richard_ for _seven years_ , you _brainless_ —"

"Claire! That's enough!" cried Madeline. "That's enough from all of you. It's Margaret's turn."

"Wow, my _last turn already_?" she asked, her sarcasm easing much of the tension. "The question is—who should I damage? Looks like pretty Penny and kitty Kendra have the most to lose—but what do they alone have in common? Hmm, decisions, decisions. Oh, I've got it—never have I ever taken Divination," said Margaret.

That worked for Penelope and Kendra, as well as Elaine. The three ladies lowered another finger. Margaret was still only one statement away from elimination, and Claire and Elaine were not far behind her. Madeline was trying to choose her statement quickly, but she also felt the need to keep Margaret in the game. She didn't want to be the one who eliminated her.

 _Never have I ever cheated on anyone or anything_ —nope.

 _Never have I ever gone skinny dipping_ —too risky.

 _Hmm… but what_?

"Never have I ever… been to a drag show," said Madeline. She looked around. Amelia smiled, nodded, and lowered a finger. She had three left.

"They're tons of fun," she said. "We could go to one tonight, if you wanted."

"Alright," said Elaine with a shrug.

So Madeline didn't do any real damage to the group, and they had at least one more round to go. Amelia was next.

"Alright—this may make some of you blush, but—never have I ever had anal sex."

Blush, indeed! Temperance's eyes grew large, Elaine and Kendra's faces turned red, and Margaret and Claire laughed.

No one admitted to doing that, so they moved on quickly to Elaine, who had given her next statement plenty of thought.

"Never have I ever been drunk," she said happily.

This immediately eliminated Margaret. Madeline looked at Claire.

"Have I?"

Claire shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. Not really."

Margaret, Amelia, Claire, Kendra, and Temperance all lowered a finger. Claire and Amelia had only two left. Penny and Maddie were tied with four.

"Alright," said Kendra seriously. "Never have I ever thought that Quidditch was all that interesting. Never have I ever been interested in Quidditch."

"What?!" cried Madeline, surprised by the information.

Everyone but Kendra lowered a finger, and Madeline was proud. They might not have ever played, but at least they all found Quidditch interesting. Claire rolled her eyes, obviously not believing Kendra.

Temperance frowned thoughtfully and said, "Never have I ever been horseback riding."

This statement eliminated Amelia and Claire from the game completely, and Margaret smirked at them.

"I seem to be in good company."

Elaine, Kendra, and Penny all lowered a finger as well. Madeline tried her best to remember—but she'd hardly ever seen a horse, let alone ridden one. She was now in the lead with three fingers left, and Penelope didn't have a statement prepared.

"Hmmm," she said, playing with her hair with her left hand. "Never have I ever snogged a Hufflepuff."

Madeline laughed while Kendra, Temperance, and Elaine groaned playfully. This eliminated Elaine from the game. They all looked to Temperance with surprise.

"Murray's a fun snog, alright?" she said defensively, and everyone laughed.

It was Madeline's turn again, since Claire and Margaret had been eliminated.

"I think—hmm."

Penelope and Madeline were tied at two, and if wasn't careful now, she could easily lose. Penny was well-known for dating Percy, but Madeline also knew her (and Kendra and Temperance) better than that.

"Never have I ever enjoyed studying Charms more than Transfiguration," said Madeline. She smiled and watched as Kendra was eliminated and Penny lowered a finger. But now it was Penelope's turn, and she and Temperance were tied at one. Penny looked at Madeline carefully, thinking of how she could win. She'd have to collaborate with Tempy.

"Never have I ever wanted to be a Healer," said Penelope with satisfaction. She successfully docked a point from Madeline, but in doing so, she eliminated Temperance.

"Penny!"

"I didn't know you wanted to be Healer!"

"I did when I was younger! For years," she said, sighing.

The women all looked to Madeline, and Penelope met her gaze. There was a thrill of finality in the room, and everyone was quiet.

"Check mate," said Madeline.

"Oh, go on with it."

"Never have I _ever_ had romantic feelings for Percy Weasley," said Madeline. "Sorry, Penny."

"Well done," said Margaret, clapping. "The noble prude triumphs after all. Can we have another glass of wine now?"

"Not until we're dressed," said Amelia. "Let's begin."

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Amelia's Secret**

Madeline was drawn to his voice. It was like a warm blanket on a day when the sky couldn't decide between rain and snow. She wanted to curl up inside his voice, drink some tea, and read a book.


	9. Amelia's Secret

**Chapter 9: Amelia's Secret**

"Really important meetings are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other. Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally. These meetings are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening. If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes direction."

– Paulo Coelho, _Eleven Minutes_

* * *

It took longer than everyone expected, and yet, there they were—eight young women, each in a different dress, cramped into the spare bedroom of the London flat of Nicolas Tennant. Amelia had gotten dressed the fastest and was therefore the official helper. She'd only been there two hours, and Madeline was already thankful for her—she had been flitting around choosing shoes, applying eyeliner, picking out lipstick colors, zipping up dresses, and shutting down petty squabbles. Claire compared her to a Muggle female superhero, and for the first time, Amelia looked genuinely embarrassed. She was, in truth, amazing.

And she didn't stop with the fashion. Back in the living area, where the coffee table was large enough, she set out a map of the world and placed on it two dozen or so silver figurines of notable monuments or buildings, so that it looked as though they were to play a game.

"Alright, ladies, gather 'round. We've got to begin the exciting business," she said while Margaret was busy pouring second glasses of wine for everyone.

"Business?" asked Penelope.

"Yes. We've got to plan our route. There are eight of us, and twenty-four locations to choose from. We will each choose one, and that will be how we decide our plan for the evening. 8 cities, 8 parties, 8 exciting adventures. Elaine will choose first. Elaine?"

"Oh my," said Elaine, as she stared wide-eyed at the map of Earth.

The ladies gathered around the coffee table and carefully handled their wine glasses as they moved about. They were all dressed and ready to go. A few of them were anxiously playing with the hem of the dress or smoothing out wrinkles or touching their hair. Madeline's ankle was twitching side-to-side, and it wasn't until Claire silently and gently placed a hand on her leg that she realised what she had been doing.

"I choose this place," said Elaine, pointing at an island off the coast of Australia. It was probably the location furthest from them.

"You're sure?" said Amelia. When Elaine nodded, Amelia took out her wand, pointed at a large lake surrounded by impressive mountains, and they transformed from silver into glimmering white and blue. It had, in fact, gone from a silver figurine to a realistic miniature. The girls ooooed and grinned. "Elaine has chosen Queenstown, New Zealand. We will likely visit during the day so that you can properly see the mountains."

Kendra took it upon herself to go next and pointed excitedly at the Eiffel Tower.

"I choose Paris!"

"Saw that one coming," said Amelia with a smile as she changed the Eiffel Tower from silver to something like bronze. Then the ladies looked around at each other, and no one openly volunteered to choose next. Amelia looked to Elaine, caught her eye, and nodded at her. Elaine got the hint.

"Temperance, d'you know where you'd like to go?" she asked politely.

Temperance shook her head and said nothing.

"Penelope?"

"Mmmm, I think I'd like to see New Orleans," said Penelope after a moment. "I've heard it's a fun place."

The New Orleans Mardi Gras mask transformed from silver to a gorgeous emerald, royal purple, and gold, complete with intricate beading and lace fringes.

"Indeed," said Amelia. "We will have plenty of activities to choose from in every city."

Claire went next, and she immediately chose Mykonos, Greece.

" _Noooooo_ ," said Madeline, pouting at Claire, who laughed. "Now I have to pick somewhere else."

"Well while you're making up your mind, I'll throw my lot in for Rio," said Margaret.

"Oooooo," said Kendra, who was impressed. "Feeling Brazilian, are we? Isn't it going to be winter there?"

"Late spring, actually. I just want to take this opportunity to see something outside of the northern hemisphere," said Margaret with an air of superior thinking.

"Where is this?" asked Madeline. She pointed at a series of islands where the figurine was an ancient-looking temple.

"That would be Bali, Indonesia. It has some great secluded beaches and local cuisine. A good friend of mine lives there."

"Well, that sounds fun. Let's go there," said Madeline happily. "Will we need swim suits for some of these places?"

"Yes—I'm glad you reminded me. I will pack those in my bag."

"Tempy?" asked Elaine tentatively.

"I'm having a hard time deciding," she said with a frown. "Munich or Tokyo? Ibiza or Copenhagen? Prague or Belgrade? Istanbul or Miami? Monaco or Casablanca? Quebec City or Tel Aviv? Manchester or Beijing?"

"If you pick Manchester, I'll pick again for you," snapped Margaret.

"How about I narrow it down one more?" asked Amelia. "I'll choose Tokyo. I'm also happy to make suggestions."

Temperance took a few more minutes to think over her decision. The wine had made her more thoughtful rather than impulsive.

"I think… I'll choose Prague."

"Good choice," said Amelia happily. A small bridge changed from silver to grey, and then blue water glimmered beneath it. "Alright then, let's go over some important information before the men get here. First and foremost, you must always be with at least one member of the group. If six of us trot away to some nightclub, the remaining two _must_ stick together like superglue."

"Superglue?" asked Kendra, who looked at Amelia as though she'd lost her mind. While all but Claire was distracted by the Muggle word, Amelia conjured eight dainty silver bracelets.

"These bracelets will glow red and vibrate if one of us is in danger. Mine will also do this if one of the bracelets is removed or strays too far. Place them on your left wrist and we will demonstrate."

Once the bracelets were all fastened, Amelia asked Elaine to take hers off. After she had unclasped hers, everyone's bracelet glowed red and vibrated on the wrist until it was slightly painful.

"As you see, it's pretty annoying. I had originally made them just glow, but I found that the vibrations were easier to detect in clubs while dancing and such. So. What else. I'll gather all your swimsuits… ah! Yes. ID's."

Amelia spent a few minutes rummaging through her purse, and while doing so extricated seven identification cards like the ones Muggles use. Madeline saw her name and picked it up.

"Madeline Palmer, 21, Inverness—I don't live anywhere near Inverness."

"You do for the next twenty-four hours," said Amelia. "And you're all 21 or 22, too. Otherwise you won't drink in New Orleans. These are ID cards that won't rouse suspicion from Muggles but will also pass international Wizarding inspections. They're incredibly realistic, so don't lose them. I spent all day yesterday making these damn things."

Madeline looked again. There was a photograph of her that she couldn't place, mostly because it wasn't moving at all. She stared at the portrait of herself and couldn't believe it—how many times had she looked at herself in a mirror—but she hardly recognised her own face. It was as though someone had drained all the energy and life out of her and placed a photograph of it on the card.

"I look horrendous!" she cried. The other ladies took up their own cards and had similar sentiments.

"Elaine sent me photographs of each of you, and I did the best I could to make them look like true identification photographs. Your dates of birth and addresses are _purposefully incorrect_ , and your photographs _will not move_ because Muggle photos do not move. If you would like, tomorrow I can update your card so that it reflects proper information and realistic images. We'll discuss that tomorrow, though."

The women said nothing. They each took their card and tried not to be horrified by what they saw. Claire's hair was long and beautiful, Madeline's face was rounder, Penelope's face was thinner, Kendra's hair was frizzy, and Margaret looked like she was 15.

"There will be a few locations where we will not these ID cards. We will go to a few strictly wizarding areas. But for the most part, you must pretend that you are a Muggle. That is why I am here."

* * *

The men arrived at the correct time, just as Amelia had instructed. While the ladies finished their second glass, she tidied up and proceeded with more instructions.

"Come out one at a time so that I can look at each of you individually. This is nothing to fear—just a last-minute look-ever. Elaine will be last, but the rest of the order you can decide among yourselves."

"Who's out there?" asked Kendra.

"The three men from earlier," she said. "I will be out there too, of course. Please give each woman about three minutes before the next enters."

As Amelia exited the room, they looked around at each other, stunned by how _pretty_ they all were. Madeline was the first to speak.

"I'm nervous. Might I go first?"

No one opposed, so Madeline stepped up to the door, and after waiting for a few long moments, she stepped out. It was obvious that the men were deep in conversation, probably about Quidditch, for none of them looked up when she quietly entered the room. Amelia, however, smiled and nodded.

"I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd choose to go first, Madeline," said Amelia.

Her name caught their attention, and Oliver, Nicolas, and Charlie looked up at her. She was swaying slightly, feeling uncomfortable in her heels, and anxious about being in clothing so delicate and beautiful—she was wearing a shimmery forest-green dress that fit tight from her waist up and flowed delicately from the waist down. It suited Madeline's athletic frame better than the other dress options, as it emphasized her smaller waist and torso. But it covered everything securely (her main concern had been the dress slipping off while she was intoxicated) and modestly, so she wasn't as self-conscious as she could have been. Her high-heels were silver and gave her another three or four inches of height, and her wild hair was braided and pulled into a well-styled up-do. It would stay out of her way and off her mind the whole evening, and she was thankful. Oliver stood and approached her, his gaze tender but still revealing surprise.

"Maddie?" he asked, smiling. "Look at you."

"Just wait til you see her in the bridesmaid dress, mate," said Nicolas.

Oliver and Madeline moved to stand out of the way. Another moment and the door opened. Temperance stepped out to join them looking nearly as nervous as Madeline felt. Her long black hair was curled and pulled half-back so that you could properly see her impressive dress—it was black with silver roses (complete with thorns) creeping up the dress towards her chest. Her heels were silver as well. Madeline had a feeling that she would be fighting men away from her friends all evening.

Next was Kendra, wearing a blazing crimson A-line dress with a noticeable V-neck. Her lips were just as red and her shoes were of a black, satin material. She stood next to Temperance and swayed with a glowing, excited grin. Her brown hair was curled and left to fall where it wanted.

Penelope entered slowly after Kendra, wearing a simple black sleeveless dress and black shoes. Kendra squealed and jumped and clapped happily, and she and Penelope lamented over their not having invited Percy and Peter to their mini fashion show.

Madeline was curious to see who would exit the bedroom next—whether it would be Margaret or Claire. She turned to look at Oliver, who smiled happily at her and leaned over to kiss her cheek, and then glanced at Nicolas and Charlie. They both seemed to be eagerly awaiting their respective girlfriend.

Claire was next, entering the room with her head down, looking at her shoes. Rather than looking at her friend, Madeline looked to Charlie—his mouth was hanging open slightly and he gazed at her as though he was seeing a newborn dragon. Claire's dress was lavender, tight-fitted, and had a halter top and low back. The material was satin-y and gorgeous, and Madeline wasn't surprised at Charlie's reaction. The color accentuated Claire's blonde hair, and the halter suited her short haircut well—her greenish grey eyes looked brighter than usual, too.

Madeline's gaze drifted from Amelia (who looked pleased) to Nicolas, whose expression had become heavily guarded, so that Madeline could only assume that he had been hoping to see Margaret next. When Claire sat next to Charlie, he whispered something in her ear, making her expression soften, and they both smiled with something like embarrassment.

Margaret was next, of course, and entered without reservation—she was wearing a lovely champagne-coloured dress which had a V-neck, low back, and satiny sheen. Nicolas' expression, Madeline noticed, had brightened considerably. Her dark complexion glowed against it, and she gave them all an annoyed-but-willing twirl.

"There, I've given a twirl. Can Elaine come out now?"

"Yes, sure," said Amelia, looking amused.

Nicolas stood to meet Margaret as she approached him, and he gave her an impressive bow.

"How charming," she cooed. "Ever the gentleman, aren't you?"

"Ever," he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

They sat, and Elaine entered hesitantly. Everyone murmured their surprise and approval when she was fully visible. She was wearing the most beautiful little white dress Madeline had ever seen, and her white shoes and silver jewelry completed the ensemble perfectly.

"Don't have too much fun, ladies," he said with his crooked grin. Madeline smiled and remembered a time when that grin made her knees wobbly.

"We'll have a running tally of how many foreign men we can each snog. Don't worry," said Margaret, looking around at the stunned faces. "Snog _only_."

"There won't be a contest," said Claire, who approached Charlie and gave him a last-minute kiss. All Nicolas got from Margaret was a flirty wink and wave.

Oliver gently placed both of his rough, calluses hands on her face and his thumbs stroked her cheeks. His warm whisky eyes told her what she needed to hear.

"I love you," they said. "You are my everything. Please, _please_ be careful."

They kissed, and Madeline was in a daze until they were touching the portkey.

* * *

Amelia explained that it would not be prudent to follow the order in which they decided, as it was not yet evening in the US, it was around midday. Their adventure therefore began in Tokyo, where it was late at night. They would then travel to Bali and next to Greece. New Zealand would be last.

They arrived first in a small hotel room.

"Alright, ladies," said Margaret snappily while they walked down through the hotel. "My goal for the night is to have you all snog at least one random lad. It's tradition, and it's not going to hurt anyone, alright?"

Her gaze was quite serious and Madeline huffed. The idea of kissing a random man did not appeal to her. She needed attachment—sincere and organic chemistry—rough hands—communicative eyes— _Oliver_. All she needed was Oliver.

"Fat chance," said Madeline stubbornly.

"Yeah," said Claire laughingly. "Good luck finding a lad willing to break through Madeline's defensive shell."

"When we're out of Muggle territory, I will redouble my efforts," said Margaret.

"I'm not kissing anyone," said Elaine sheepishly. "So good luck."

"Oh, dear, sweet Elaine… it will happen. Just wait."

Margaret's sense of purpose was a little foreboding and intimidating, and the women grew quiet.

"Oh, you lot need to loosen up," said Margaret with a huff. "Your boyfriends and fiancé will still love you if you kiss another human. It doesn't have to be a man!"

"You will see plenty of attractive men and women tonight," said Amelia. "But I advise caution. Treat everyone like Muggles until you know better."

"The key is to not grow attached to these people. You're exploring and _it's fun_. It's the last chance you have," said Margaret, looking directly at Elaine, "before you're married. That's what tonight is about. So everyone needs to loosen up."

Elaine froze and stared at Margaret with surprise.

"You're right," said Elaine with horror. "I need a drink. Or two."

Tokyo's nightlife was wrapping up when they arrived, but they managed to find a club that was still energetically encouraging people to dance and party. They began the night by drinking and dancing together, and it didn't take long for Claire, Kendra, and Margaret to have partners. They each were inherently comfortable with their bodies and it showed in their movements. Madeline would need another drink before she loosened up enough to let random men grind all over her.

They were only in Tokyo for about an hour and a half when Amelia rounded them up, let them have another shot of liquor, and had them all touching their next portkey.

* * *

Two blinks later and they were at their second location, Bali. It was deep into the early hours of the morning, and the breeze on the beach was thick with humidity but a touch chilly. From the beach where they landed, the ladies could see the endless blackness that was the sea and the star-spotted inky sky. To their left was a house with a large, wide veranda that wrapped around the white wooden building. It was surrounded by lush green plants and looked as though it opened straight to a wild jungle. The juxtaposition of the greenery, the house, and the sea was quite disorientating.

"This is one of my favorite places in the world," said Amelia softly. "It's a wizarding hotel with a restaurant on the ground floor. People stay here from all over the world. I know the owner and his sons. They will likely dine with us."

"We're in Bali?" asked Claire.

"Yes. We have about an hour until the sun comes up."

"What are we going to do for two hours?" asked Margaret.

"Whatever you want. Drink. Rest. Party. Sleep. Eat. Whatever. They have a great venue for musicians in the back, and they may have someone playing."

Amelia led them to the house, which was cozy and warm. While the others were ordering food and drinks from an attractive, dark-complexioned bartender with an impressive set of biceps, Madeline walked out on the empty, quiet veranda and stared at the ocean.

The breeze picked up while her thoughts lingered on the lights of the city she had just seen, and she heard one of the French doors to the veranda open. Assuming it was either Claire, Amelia, or Margaret, Madeline slumped onto the rail of the veranda and relaxed her body completely. Her feet were already sore from the heels. She thought about taking her wand and relieving them, but Amelia had all their wands in her purse.

"I'm not hungry," she said, still looking at the waves foaming against the beach. The darkness of the sky wasn't too different from that of the ocean, and Madeline felt her mind swirl a bit. She'd already had enough to drink to feel the effects.

"That's a shame," said a man's voice. She didn't recognise it and immediately straightened and looked behind. "We have an excellent menu."

"Oh," said Madeline stupidly. It was the only sound she could make.

The man standing before her was incredibly attractive, but he was also _more_ than attractive, somehow. It went beyond physical and sexual attraction. His eyes were the color of lush, dark green plants reaching around the sides of the veranda; they spoke of patience, courage, and immediate, palpable love—a love for all living things. The man's hair was darker than the sky, and though it was long, he had it pulled back into a bun. His smile, as it broke out slowly over his dark-complexioned face, was warm and welcoming. It was made all the brighter being surrounded by a short black beard.

"Amelia asked me to check on you," he said next, his smile crumbling into a concerned frown—Madeline only stared in awe, her eyes wide and mouth open like a caught fish.

"Are you alright?"

"I—yes," she said, shaking her head and regaining as much control over her mind as she could. "A little out of it, I suppose."

"I'm Seti," he said, stepping closer and extending his hand. "An old friend of Amelia's."

"Madeline."

"Madeline," he repeated, smiling. She reached out her hand but immediately wish that she hadn't. His hand was warm and made her spine tingle.

"I like Amelia a lot," said Madeline stupidly as she retracted her hand.

"As do I," he replied.

"I suppose you see a lot of Amelia's groups," said Madeline as her gaze shifted to the ocean, making her more comfortable. She wouldn't look at him. "Lots of pretty young women."

"Yes, we do. We see a lot of magical guests from around the world. Amelia gets special treatment because we adore her," said Seti. He joined her in leaning on the railing.

Madeline was drawn to his voice. It was like a warm blanket on a day when the sky couldn't decide between rain or snow. She wanted to curl up inside his voice, drink some tea, and read a book.

"Is she—dear to you?" Madeline asked, watching his gaze for a reaction.

"Amelia's heart resides in St Andrews, and I was never given a moment's doubt about her feelings for the man who lives there," said Seti.

"St Andrews?" Madeline asked, taken aback completely. "That's where I live, kind of. I'm studying to be a Healer at the infirmary. Amelia has a boyfriend there?"

"Yes," said Seti. He gazed at Madeline for a few moments and then smiled at the ocean. "You're—well—I can tell that you are the sort of person who can keep a secret, so I will have the pleasure of divulging some to you. Amelia has been dating a Muggle man for several years. They were already together when I met her. But they have grown distant since he moved north, and she isn't sure if he could handle knowing about magic."

"She doesn't trust him?" Madeline asked, frowning. "That's the basis of all relationships."

"It's possible. Years sometimes weakens bonds rather than strengthening them," he said, frowning as well.

"The young woman with the short blonde hair? Her name is Claire. She learned that lesson this spring," said Madeline.

"She looks radiant," said Seti, who had looked until he'd seen her. "She's happy now?"

"I think so," said Madeline. "She certainly is better than she was a month ago."

They were quiet for a few moments, and Madeline closed her eyes to listen to the waves. She thought about Amelia—how was it that such a beautiful and intelligent witch had fallen in love with a Muggle? And what was he doing in St Andrews?

It was then that it hit her. She gasped. It had been several weeks, but she remembered the business card.

"Seti," said Madeline, her voice urgent and her hand grasping his forearm. He looked at her with alarm, and her mind swirled in an amalgamation of intoxication and revelation. " _His name_. Amelia's boyfriend's name. What was it?"

Seti's eyes expressed his pleasure at hearing her say his name and of touching her hand, and he blinked away his distracted feelings, but it took a moment, which is of course when Margaret walked out onto the veranda with a drink in each hand. Madeline yanked her hands back and felt her cheeks redden. She had never seen Margaret look so victorious.

"Maddie, I brought you a drink," she said, sidling up to Madeline and handing her the fruity-looking cocktail. "We're ordering food. Are you hungry for... anything?"

"I should probably eat something," said Madeline. She looked to Seti. "D'you have any recommendations?"

"Of course. May I join you inside?"

"I'd rather stay out here. Margo, would you tell Amelia that I want to listen to the waves while we eat?"

Margaret, ever the surprise, didn't grin or anything. Madeline was sure she would make things more awkward, but she only nodded happily and went back inside.

"That's Margaret," said Madeline gently once they were alone. "She's on a mission to make sure we all cheat on our boyfriends this evening, even if it's just a kiss. I think she's hoping you'll be able to crack my shell."

"I'm not sure if that was an invitation, a challenge, or a dare," said Seti. He tried to repress a bashful grin and failed miserably.

"Just information," said Madeline calmly, though her heart was racing. "Temperance is the only one of us who is single."

"I see," he said, looking back at the beach. His eyebrows crinkled and then returned to their normal place. "You're warning me not to get attached."

Madeline's face felt like it was burning.

"I almost forgot—tell me quickly—what was Amelia's boyfriend's name?"

"Patrick," said Seti immediately. Madeline gasped, her hands covering her mouth. "Only—don't say anything to Amelia until you've finished your evening together. She'll have a come-apart."

"Really?" asked Madeline, who was surprised. "But she's so collected—"

" _Please_ , say nothing. I don't even dare to ask her about him. It's been so long since—"

"What are you two talking about?" asked Amelia, who entered the veranda along with the other ladies. "You look like two schoolgirls gossiping about nonsense."

"I wouldn't call it nonsense," said Madeline quickly. "But we'll keep our gossip to ourselves, thank you."

Seti winked at Madeline as the ladies passed them to sit at one of the best tables, and Madeline felt heat spread from her neck to her cheeks again. Claire managed to meet her eyes and was astonished to see her friend blushing in the soft light.

Madeline was painfully aware of Seti sitting next to her throughout their meal. And it seemed, at least to her, that he was aware of her discomfort. He offered recommendations for her meal, took every opportunity to meet her gaze or accidentally touch her hand, and seemed to find pleasure in every word she managed to coherently string together. The group made well-mannered and quiet small talk, mostly consisting of trivialities and trivia. Claire and Margaret were curious about the man who so easily made their friend blush, so they both asked him several questions. Rather than feeling their interrogation anxiously, he smiled and graciously answered, assured as he was that Madeline was also listening.

Seti was Amelia's age, had been raised in Bali, but had studied at Beauxbatons as his mother and her family had. He knew of Andrew, Elaine's fiancé, but only very little. After France, Seti had travelled to London, where he had met Amelia and had worked at the same library for which Claire currently worked. He and Claire talked about the people and business there for quite some time before the conversation somehow transitioned back to Hogwarts.

The four Hogwarts Houses and their respective qualities interested Seti greatly, and he was not bashful in having his curiosity satisfied. Elaine spent a great deal of time describing their Hogwarts Houses, with Temperance filling in the gaps.

"I think your preference is more important," Temperance was saying. "But no one understands that at 11 years old. They don't know if they prefer loyalty as a trait over intelligence, or ambition over courage. I was good at being timid enough or sad enough to manipulate my parents, and I understood ambitiousness in others. The Sorting Hat saw that in me and made me a Slytherin. I don't regret it, though, because I spent seven years truly discovering who I am in spite of the negative labels placed on me at such a young age."

Madeline stared at her friend in amazement, as she desperately wished she could have recorded Temperance's speech so she could hear it or read it later. It surprised Madeline to hear her speaking so candidly about anything, especially her House.

"I wished I'd had the courage to befriend you sooner," said Claire sadly. "I feel like we missed a lot of opportunities for study parties."

"I would've been branded as even more of an outcast," said Temperance with a shrug. "We're here together now, as friends, and I'm thankful for all of you."

There was a great deal of cooing and hugging, followed by a brief, pleasant silence.

"I'll never forget what the Sorting Hat said to me," said Madeline, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. "The day we were all Sorted. When it told me that I was a Hufflepuff, I thought the world had ended. I'd never been separated from Oliver by anything or anyone until that day. My parents were both Gryffindors, so we all assumed that I would be too."

"I remember how much we used to fight over you," said Claire with a laugh. "Nicolas and Oliver always insisted, no matter what, that you were a Gryffindor, and Richard and I always insisted that you were a Ravenclaw."

"What did the Sorting Hat tell you, Maddie?" asked Elaine, who was not to be distracted.

"That I was a _true_ Hufflepuff, the truest it had seen in years, whatever that means."

"So the rest of us were all codfish? I see how it is," said Elaine, but she grinned and winked, and Madeline knew she wasn't upset. "I can see it. You've always been too loyal to your friends and too honest with everyone."

"I'm honest only because I care," she replied, smiling.

After eating, the ladies retreated inside to flirt with the bartender and look around the hotel. There was a local musician strumming a guitar in an acoustically-sound side room off the restaurant, so a few of the ladies went to watch. Madeline found her bathing suit—the one that inadvertently matched her dress, the one Elaine had helped her choose—in Amelia's bag and found a nice linen pajama set sitting on the bed of their room. She changed and walked out onto the veranda.

After searching for a few minutes, Madeline found a short wooden staircase that led to the beach. The sand beneath her was cool and soft like the bottom of a pond during a Scottish summer. She left her shoes by the stairs, as she noticed others had done, and began making her way to the ocean. She watched her path carefully as she walked, as there were shells, small twigs, and other random items mixed in with the soft sand. It wasn't until he was a few feet away that she noticed that she wasn't alone on the beach. He turned to greet her as she approached.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi."

"You aren't interested in my cousin or our musician?" he asked, his voice warm—so warm it flooded her chest and made the breeze less chilly.

"No. I'd rather watch the sunrise," said Madeline.

"I would too. I was going to check on your group, but—"

Seti stepped closer, bringing his dark green eyes into sharper view. It was clear to Madeline that her eyes had a similar mystifying effect on him, for he was silent for a few moments too. They simply gazed at each other like idiots in a trance. Seti was the first to gather his wits and break his gaze.

"What were you saying?" she asked once his eyes were elsewhere.

"I'd rather sit on the beach with you," he said. "There isn't _anything_ I'd rather do."

"Seti," said Madeline, her face softening. His eyes came alive and captivated her, and she lost her train of thought again.

"Your eyes," she said, cursing Margaret for encouraging Madeline to drink again during dinner.

"They startle you?"

"Unsettle, perhaps. They speak. Constantly. I've never seen eyes as alive as yours. So many people… their eyes all seem so dull now. You must have seen and done so much."

"Seeing and doing is part of the equation, not the heart of it. Were you going to the water?"

"I am, yes, unless you think I should return to my group," said Madeline, looking back down at her feet. Her toes were dancing in the sand.

"You may be tempted, but how often do you watch the sun rise over an ocean on other side of the world?"

Madeline stared at Seti again. The lights from the house were illuminating him, and when he smiled, she bolted towards the water. Seti followed her easily.

At the line where the water had last receded, Madeline stopped, and Seti laughed. He lit his wand nonverbally and they stared out at the vast expanse of salt water.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," said Madeline quickly, though she had to admit that she'd never been swimming in an ocean before. She'd never been swimming at night before, either. Were there sharks? Were there worse things than sharks? She had seen pictures of massive sharks, and she knew that most Muggles feared them.

Madeline's heart was pounding. She realised that she had not lived very much. Settling for a position at St Mungo's and being a Healer for forty years was suddenly unappealing—she'd seen the toll it had taken on her own mum. Was she really willing to follow in those footsteps?

The answer was no. Simply no. She wanted to be an Auror. And the letter still hadn't come. She was beginning to think it wouldn't ever come when she felt pressure on her hand.

"Madeline?" asked Seti, his voice pulling her out of her own mind. He had squeezed her hand gently.

"Let's go," she said, letting go of his hand and pulling off the linen pajamas.

The water was warmer than Madeline had ever felt for a body of water, but it felt amazing on her sore feet and ankles, so she kept going.

"We should not go too far," said Seti. Madeline halted, standing with the water at waist height. Once Seti had caught up to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. He seemed as though he was about to speak, but she took a deep breath, clamped her nostrils shut with two fingers, and fully submerged herself. With her eyes closed, she released control of her body and felt it tug and pull with the ocean. After a few moments, she felt Seti pulling her back above the water.

"Please be careful," he said, his voice low and thick with concern. The fear in his voice rattled Madeline's chest, and she felt impelled to hug him. The waves were gently sloshing against them, but Seti held her as still as he could. Madeline's brain felt cloudy and stupidly slow.

"I wouldn't willingly frighten you," she said. "But I want to swim."

"Let us swim, then."

But as he spoke, neither moved. She stood against him, and he held her close. He was warm and felt strong.

"I want to kiss you," said Madeline, her voice expressing the confusion she was feeling. It was a statement, but a highly uncertain and surprised one.

"You are not in your right mind—I should not be tempting you," he said, finally resolving to let Madeline go. They stood less than arm's length across in the darkness.

"Oliver was supposed to be the only one who made me feel this way," she said, still expressing her confusion. Seti took a step back.

"Physical desire is temporary," he said, calm and sad. "Time destroys it, mostly."

"As if your heart hasn't seen past that already," said Madeline sharply. "I know you feel the beat of my heart as if it were your own."

Her inebriated baiting paid off. Seti pulled Madeline close, leaned down, and stopped short of her lips.

"There is never only one love. You have several paths, several lives, you could live. You are at a crossroads."

"I am," said Madeline. Her brain was slowly absorbing his words. How many versions of her life were there?

"You will love many people in your lifetime, but you already have someone who is willing to die for you, yes?"

Madeline nodded, tears springing to her eyes. Oliver. _Oliver._

"Yes," Madeline cried. Seti shook her gently.

"Your friend wanted you to feel this. She wanted you to test the waters with other men. It helps you solidify your feelings. You love him, don't you?"

Madeline nodded, tears still flowing down her face.

"Of course you do," he said, letting go of her. "I'm—I'm no one to you."

Madeline wanted to argue, but she said nothing. Who was he, really? Was she really half in love with a man she'd met only an hour ago? She shook her head, trying to make sense of senseless behavior.

"Let's swim," he said.

It took less than half an hour of playfully swimming under and over waves for Madeline to feel as though she had exerted all her energy. She had not gone very far from shore—perhaps only 10 metres—but she could no longer touch the ocean floor, so she began swimming back with the last of her energy and let the waves help her return. Seti was about five metres away when Madeline paused for a moment, treading water, and felt something touch her ankle.

She cried out in surprise, and Seti immediately swam towards her. Like a bolt of icy lightning to her chest, she realised that she didn't have her wand with her. She began swimming faster, but she didn't make it to Seti—whatever it was found and took hold of her ankle and pulled her deeper into the water.

It was like something out of a ridiculous Muggle horror film, or like a story that Professor Trelawney would predict in a crystal ball. It was, Madeline realised at some point during her struggle, probably a massive squid, just like the one in the lake at Hogwarts... except this one wanted to eat her.

Madeline kicked and doubled up to use her hands to fight for release, but neither tactic worked. When she tore at the tentacle that had her ankle, the monster stopped and made a horrible shrieking noise—and this allowed Seti, who had been swimming towards them as fast as he could, to target and cast a spell at the sea beast. Another bout of shrieking ensued, and then it began thrashing. After another hit, the monster released Madeline, and the last thing she could remember was feeling like she was floating in complete darkness.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Hurricanes**

"I want to talk to Claire," he said.

"She's not ready for that," said Madeline.

"What's that supposed to mean? I love her!" he shouted, looking right at Claire. She stared back at him with a wide-eyed, horrified gaze. Madeline watched as Margaret led Claire toward the exit.

"No— _no_ —I want to talk to her!"


	10. Hurricanes

**Chapter 10: Hurricanes**

"Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper."

\- Francis Bacon

* * *

Oliver sat very still and tried not to think about the woman sitting on his lap. He glared over at his friend, who was busy watching his own "entertainer". Nicolas's idea of getting even for the bachelorette party was to take Oliver and Charlie to a strip club. Charlie flat-out refused to go, and Nicolas later mumbled about never liking him anyway. Oliver had never felt more irritated and embarrassed, but it wasn't the half-naked women—Nicolas had never been shy about showing Oliver pictures of women. No, it was Nicolas' foolish assumption that this was "what he needed" to get his mind off the idea of Madeline falling madly in love with a man he imagined to look like a more handsome version Viktor Krum.

It certainly wasn't working. Oliver hadn't been suspicious in the slightest until Nicolas mentioned something about them all falling in love with random foreign men, and now it was all he could think about. And the tall, long-haired brunette wiggling around on his lap could tell. His body was responding to her, but his mind was long gone.

"Why won't you look at me?" she cooed into his ear.

Oliver took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and stared determinedly at the ceiling.

"Hmm, you need less distractions," said the woman. She stood and took his hand. "Follow me."

Dazed and hardly listening, Oliver followed. Nicolas briefly saw what was happening and grinned in triumph. She led him to a small room covered in what looked to be a fuchsia-coloured velvet from ceiling to floor, even the oddly-shaped seat cushion, which looked like a large foot ottoman that had aspired to being the same shape of a fried egg. She pulled the velvet curtain and they were alone. Oliver was then pushed onto the cushion and the woman clambered on top of him once again.

"Don't be shy, dear," she said. "I rarely see men as young and handsome as you and your friend. Let's both enjoy this, shall we?"

Oliver tried to speak but felt his words catch in his throat. She was touching beneath the waistband of his trousers when he managed to speak.

"What exactly will we be doing?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes. His voice sounded gruffer than he could have predicted. He supposed his gaze arrested her, for her painted mouth hung open for a few motionless moments. When she regained her wits, she smiled. Her expression cleared of all pretense and her smile suddenly seemed like the most honest thing he'd seen from her so far.

"You know how this works, don't you?"

Oliver said nothing and stared into her suddenly-clear blue eyes. He noticed for the first time that her nose was pierced, and that a small diamond hung in her left nostril.

"Your friend is paying me to do whatever _you_ want, whatever you _need_ ," she said. In the lapse between the woman's wiggling, Oliver sat up.

"What if I don't want to do anything? Do you still get paid?"

"I… suppose. Am I that unattra—"

"No," said Oliver quickly. " _No_. That was not meant to offend."

"I see. You're young, which means you're probably in love with a virgin. Perhaps you're one too."

Oliver's eyes rolled from the woman to the side of the velveted-curtain walls. He didn't want to have this conversation again, let alone with someone he didn't know.

"Listen, dear," she said, "getting yourself off is not cheating on your girlfriend. In a way, you're doing you both a favor."

The woman leaned back onto him, pulled his shirt over his head, and was pleased with what she saw. Her hands traced all over his sculpted torso while she spoke.

"You will need to know how to satisfy both of you," she said. She spoke close to his face, and when she finished, she nibbled on his ear. He gasped and felt her redouble her efforts. "Let me teach you a thing or two before you leave."

She had already undone his trousers and was pulling them down when he bolted up, apologized, and left her in the velvet room.

Nicolas was not where they had begun, and though he was probably in a velvet room as well, Oliver didn't care anymore. He exited the building and stood outside in the cool October air, which was precisely what he needed.

The street wasn't empty, so Oliver didn't attempt to disapparate. It seemed like half an hour had passed when Nicolas strolled purposefully out of the strip club.

"What the hell, mate? Cassie just told me what happened! You just ran off on her? She was about to—"

"I don't care," said Oliver blankly. "I don't _care_ what she was about to do. That place smelled like the Divination tower and I don't want to—"

"Oliver, mate, when you and Madeline finally get to—"

" _No_ —shut it!" he shouted. "Maddie and I will figure it out together, and if we laugh the whole time, so be it. _That's what I want_. I don't want someone else telling me how to 'satisfy' her. I don't want anyone else telling us what we need. We're not fucking idiots. We'll figure it out."

Nicolas was silent for some time and leaned against the same brick wall as Oliver.

"I don't want anyone else," said Oliver after a while. "I never have."

"I know," mumbled Nicolas. "I know, mate. I'm sorry."

"D'you think they're all really running off with foreign men?"

"I dunno. It's like that Andrew bloke was saying. 'Passion attracts passion.' I'm sure they'll all be approached by someone. But it's Maddie. She would gut herself before cheating on anyone, let alone you."

Oliver nodded. It _was_ Madeline, after all.

"She'll probably be relieved to see you," said Nicolas.

"D'you think there are any jewelry shops open?" asked Oliver, who desperately tried to sound nonchalant.

"Are you… implying what I think you're—"

"No, not yet," said Oliver. "D'you know a place?"

Nicolas grinned.

"Mate. C'mon. It's me. Of course I do."

* * *

Madeline had lost consciousness that evening for reasons she would never have suspected, and when she coughed and sputtered the world back into view, she wondered why she had insisted on swimming. She also briefly wondered if Seti could have warned her more explicitly about the giant man-eating squid lurking in the depths offshore. But she was alive, and Seti was nearly crying he was so thankful.

"Madeline," he said, his voice still full of emotion.

Amelia and the other ladies were there, and they conversed for some time while Madeline coughed, breathed, and tasted nothing but salt water. Seti let his fingers drift across the top of her head while they spoke. Madeline thought it seemed like the sky was lightening. As the breeze drew across her, whispering its secrets, she gave thought to her discarded linen pajamas. Had she her wand, Madeline could have easily dried herself nonverbally. The feeling of Seti's fingers gently stroking her aching head relaxed her and drove away most of her thoughts.

Amelia was arguing that Madeline should be brought inside, but no one was asking her opinion. Finally she coughed until she could speak.

"Water," Madeline croaked.

Amelia conjured a glass and then water and handed it to her. Seti helped her sit up and Madeline drank a few sips before choking and coughing most of it up.

After two more unsuccessful attempts, she was finally able to drink some of the water.

"Thank you," she said, looking at Amelia and the others. "I'm alright. There's no need for alarm. I want to watch the sunrise."

"Well, I suppose you can sit out here for a few more minutes. It won't be long now," said Amelia, glancing at the sky. She walked back to the veranda and Margaret seemed to pull the others with her.

Sitting up and looking at the ocean, it was clear that she had been correct. The sky was visibly growing lighter. She asked Seti to fetch her clothes and he obliged.

"Are we facing due East?" she asked.

"Close enough," he replied after drying her swim suit for her. She got dressed as he spoke. "We're located on the eastern portion of the island. Ideal for sunrises but not sunsets. Most tourists prefer the latter."

"Why?"

"I've no idea. I suppose most people are accustomed to sleeping through them. It's a shame, really. They're far more intimate. Softer. More honest. The sunrise harkens the birth of the day, while sunsets bring its death. Both are necessary, but—"

"One is more hopeful."

"Yes," said Seti. He was certain they were alone; the others were sitting on the veranda or were inside. "Your eyes are like that."

"What?"

"You said earlier that my eyes—that they spoke many things to you, that they were fully alive. But yours speak only of hope. They are like the sunrise. Anxieties or fears may cloud them sometimes, but they still bring the same measure of hope. To me, at least."

Madeline felt tears well up in her eyes, and she knew, somewhere in the recesses of her internal, inaccessible self, that a part of her, or a version of her, had loved this soul before. And his soul knew hers too.

"What was that—the thing that took me?" Madeline asked, her brain reasserting itself for once. Seti nodded with a frown.

"I believe the non-magic people call it, in English, a giant squid. It usually hunts at night. It was so late that I thought it might be back in its depths, but I was gravely mistaken."

"We have one at Hogwarts, but it's very friendly and rescues children who fall overboard," said Madeline.

They both smiled, talked, and laughed until the sun was nearly peeking over the horizon. There were only a few wisps of clouds, but the sky was already blooming in blushing pinks and oranges. Had there been more clouds, it could have been a bouquet.

A few minutes later, when the sun was in full bloom, the sky turned from blushes to raging orange and yellow. The brightness of it eventually became severe, and Madeline and Seti faced one another.

"Does this happen to you often?" asked Madeline.

"Which event are you referring to? I see hungry, intoxicated people quite often. I have never had to rescue someone from the squid."

"Do you often lie on the beach with women who can't stop staring at you?"

"No," he said, laughing. "Women have tried to entice me before, but… nothing like this."

Madeline felt the warmth of his voice travel up from her chest and into her neck and cheeks. They both smiled with something like embarrassment and Madeline laughed.

"This is absurd," she mumbled. "You shouldn't be—I can't even imagine—"

Their gaze met and they looked at each other for a long time. His smile made her feel more at ease. She didn't feel the need to speak.

"You fear that your feelings have betrayed you, making you unfaithful," he said. "But you have betrayed no one. Only actions can do that."

"You could _say_ something awful and betray someone," countered Madeline.

"Words can describe betrayal, and can evoke those feelings, but you can only truly betray someone through acting."

"I don't agree," said Madeline. "You could tell someone your friend's darkest secret and betray them that way."

"The action, in that case, was speaking," said Seti with a laugh. "Words alone, without intention or action, mean very little. We could talk all day of… your living here indefinitely, but if you returned to your friends, family, career, and significant other, no harm was done to them."

"It could harm me, though. What if it ruptured my security, my sense of who I am?"

"You will only live as Madeline this once. You must do as your heart says. Do you listen to it? Does it speak to you?"

"My heart?" she asked. "I suppose I do."

"Here," he said, lying himself on his back. "Lie down and spend a few minutes just listening."

Madeline did as she was instructed. His voice embraced her like her favourite jumper.

"Try to ignore your thinking brain. Feel the sand."

The rough grasp of sand was a powerful sensation—she lifted her knees, dug her toes in further, and then let her legs fall. Her thinking brain, as he called it, tried to explain the sand, telling her that it was pulverized rocks, sea shells, and the like. She let the backs of her hands graze the sand.

"My brain likes to think," said Madeline with a laugh.

"That's alright. Listen to the waves. Focus on your breath."

"My breath?"

"Can you breathe in for five and out for five counts?"

Madeline tried this and found it more difficult than she expected.

"When you can, extend it to seven."

This was even more challenging, but she tried it several times. It eventually became easier. She felt her mind clearing.

"Let any thoughts or feelings that weigh you down to wash away with your breath."

Madeline continued counting to seven and listening to Seti's warm, gentle voice.

"Let anything not serving you wash away with the ocean and with your exhales."

It was becoming easier to listen. She heard the birds off in the distance chirping their morning greetings, she heard Claire's voice on the veranda, and she heard the waves creeping up the shore not far from her feet.

"Your breath is powerful, Maddie. It can fill you and cleanse you, it can create ease where there is tension."

"I have never felt this kind of magic."

"It's the magic of the breath. Clearing your mind keeps you attuned with your inner self. Your breath is your guide and your tool. It is a simple meditation."

Madeline made a soft noise in her throat to make it clear that she heard him. She continued breathing to seven, but her thoughts were difficult to banish completely. She could succeed briefly, but then another thought would arrive, and she would become distracted.

She also had no way of knowing if her thoughts were somehow purer because she was listening more intently.

"Focus on your breath, and the rest will fall into place."

"Or I will fall asleep."

"Sometimes that is what our bodies need," said Seti gently, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "For someone as thoughtful as you, even this simple meditation will take much practice."

"How do I differentiate between my thoughts and my heart speaking? Will they sound different?"

"Your heart has been speaking all morning," he replied. "You said so yourself."

Madeline opened her eyes, and the brightness of the sun was nearly blinding. But she sat up and looked at Seti.

"My heart belongs to another, though it grieves me to say so," she said.

Seti nodded.

"It would destroy me if I stayed," Madeline said, feeling a sudden clarity.

Seti stood and helped Madeline to do the same. They embraced in the early-morning sunlight. She was covered in sand.

"Your breath is incredibly powerful. If, for any reason, you find yourself wishing you could speak to me, remember to breath. My voice will guide you."

Madeline nodded.

"Or come to visit and allow me the pleasure of seeing you in person."

"I will visit, I promise. I want you to meet Oliver."

"I'm not sure he would enjoy watching us interact," said Seti with a frown. "Your friend Claire has already been eyeing me with suspicion."

"She has?"

"Yes, but it is no matter. Your path is clearer now, isn't it?"

"Yes. Thank you, Seti."

"Maddie?" called Claire from the veranda. "It's time to get ready!"

"I suppose I will need to get all this sand off," said Madeline.

"Indeed," he replied. "Let's go."

Together they walked back to the veranda under the watchful eyes of Claire and Amelia, who suggested that she shower as fast as possible.

In the shower, Madeline's thoughts ran wild. Amelia forced her to keep it short, but she thought of Oliver and Seti, their similarities and differences, the whole five minutes. Margaret and Amelia did her hair and makeup quickly, and soon Madeline was being shuffled into her heels and into their portkey circle.

"Wait—can't I say goodbye?" Madeline asked, looking at Amelia, who nodded at Madeline's intent gaze.

"You have less than two minutes."

Madeline ran back out into the restaurant and found Seti sitting near the veranda. She wasted no time and embraced him. There were only a few patrons awake and deciding what to eat for breakfast.

"I'm leaving," she said.

"I know."

"I… had to say goodbye."

Seti nodded, and Madeline felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Here," he said, pulling something out of his pocket. "Take this. I usually carry it with me."

It was a small, Sickle-sized pebble, but it was blue and encircled with a gorgeous green crystalline something around the middle.

"Seti," she said, shaking her head.

"Please. Take it. It's usually good luck—I didn't have it with me out swimming."

Madeline threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and retreated. She was nearly all out of courage.

"If you ever need to escape, for whatever reason, or you need a place to honeymoon," he said, his mouth twisting painfully around the last word, "please come. It will always be a pleasure to see you."

"I will," said Madeline. "Bye."

He squeezed her hand and she turned to leave, but not without stopping to smile at him one last time. Then she joined the portkey circle and was gone.

* * *

The next location didn't do much to pull Madeline's thoughts away from what transpired in Bali. Mykonos was another beach setting, and they danced in their swimsuits until Elaine was ready to move on. The people were young and attractive and fun to be around, but Madeline remained distracted.

In Prague, they wandered over several bridges before Amelia led them to a rave club where the owners had charmed the place so that no one ever became sleepy. It was an anti-fatigue club, which were apparently growing in popularity among witches and wizards in several countries. They spent a while there, and Madeline danced with one taller guy for quite some time. She had, it seemed, "loosened up," and was enjoying the feeling of this random man's hands. They dance together until he pulled her close and began trying to suck on the skin of her neck; that was when she retreated and found Claire and Amelia sitting at the bar. She'd lost track of the rest of the women, but Amelia didn't seem concerned, so Madeline didn't let it bother her.

"Having fun?" asked Amelia.

"I was until that guy tried to bite my neck off," said Madeline.

"Temperance has run off to a corner with a Quidditch player," said Claire with a grin. "We're trying to give her some time to enjoy herself."

"Ah," said Madeline, nodding. "But not Viktor Krum, right?"

Claire and Amelia both laughed.

"Right," said Claire, who was still giggling. "He doesn't seem like the snogging type. This lad's handsome."

"Well good for Tempy!" said Madeline.

Amelia ordered a drink for each of them.

"Speaking of snogging type," said Amelia. "You and Seti took to each other immediately."

"Yeah," said Claire with suspicion. "What the bloody hell was that all about?"

"Listen to the both of you," cried Madeline. "You've been in love. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I ever cheated on Oliver. Something happened with Seti and I, but whatever it was, it didn't have a physical manifestation."

Madeline was impressed with herself for sounding so coherent.

"'Physical manifestation?' Plenty of touching happened," said Amelia. "I've known him for years, and I'd never seen him so taken with someone as he was with you."

"Thanks, but that's not what I need to hear," said Madeline, her gaze serious. Claire took her hand.

"You did the right thing," she said, nodding. "You will be relieved when you see Oliver again."

Madeline nodded and began drinking when she heard someone shout at her.

"Maddie?!"

Madeline recognised the voice immediately, and by the look of horror on Claire's face, she did too. But it was Madeline that he had seen, so she turned around and faced Richard Callaghan.

"Richard?! What are you doing here?"

Rather than answering, he grinned and hugged her, pulling her out of her bar seat. He didn't give a second glance toward Claire and Amelia. Madeline thought he looked well-dressed, intoxicated, and happy.

"A friend of mine from New York invited me. He said all of the most famous Quidditch players come here, and so far, he's been right!"

"I probably danced with one of them!" said Madeline with a forced grin.

"Really? What're you doing in Prague?"

"Elaine's bachelorette party."

"Ah. Well you look fantastic! How are you? How's Oliver?"

She was about to respond when Margaret's voice interrupted.

"Maddie, you are not allowed to snog more men than—Richard?! Holy fuck—has Claire seen him?"

Though not incoherently drunk, Margaret had attempted to whisper the last sentence and failed. At the sound of Margaret's voice, his features slid into something dark and unpleasant.

"Claire's here?" he asked, looking at Madeline with the large, simpering eyes she remembered well. The eyes of a man she had once thought of as a brother. He now looked gaunt and ill.

"Does he know she's dating you-know-CW?" whispered Margaret to Madeline audibly.

Though she had been resisting for several minutes, Madeline turned and looked at Claire and Amelia. Claire was sitting rigidly, listening to every word, while Amelia was looking between them helplessly. Richard recognised her even with her back turned to him, now that he was finally paying attention.

" _Claire_?"

Her shoulders twitched at his voice, but she didn't turn in her seat. He laughed, but Madeline heard the bitterness.

"I always knew she could do anything with her hair and still look like an angel," he said, glancing from Claire to Margaret. "'Ello, Margo. How've you been? How's your futile relationship with Nick going?"

At this, Margaret struck Richard hard across the face with the back of her left hand, and he staggered backward. Claire and Amelia jumped out of their seats, but it was Madeline who approached him, took his hand, and led him a metre or two away when he stopped.

"I want to talk to Claire," he said stubbornly.

"She's not ready for that," said Madeline.

"What's that supposed to mean? I love her!" he shouted, looking right at Claire. She stared back at him with a wide-eyed, horrified gaze. Madeline watched as Margaret led Claire towards the exit.

"No— _no_ —I want to talk to her!"

"You _don't_ love her, Richard. If you did, you wouldn't have abandoned her. You're a coward. Leave her alone."

"Cowards love too," he said, breaking free of Madeline's grip and following Claire and Margaret. Amelia and Madeline ran after him.

Claire and Margaret were across the empty street when Richard emerged, followed closely by Madeline and Amelia.

"Claire—please—can we talk?"

Claire shook her head firmly, and that was when Amelia knew she could step in.

" _Claire_ ," he said, his voice breaking. "Please? I've grown up, I swear it."

"She's with someone else, alright?" snapped Margaret. "You're just making a fool of yourself. Go home, Richard."

"A fool who's still in love," he said as Amelia stepped to him.

"Leave them alone," she said, squaring up to him. She took out her wand. "Go back inside, or things will get ugly."

"Who the bloody hell is this?" he asked, looking to Margaret, who was holding Claire as if she were having a bad nightmare.

"She's our friend," said Madeline sharply. "Amelia, where's my wand? He won't challenge me."

"Fine," said Richard. " _Fine_. I'm going. Claire… I still love you. I always have."

"Bugger off!" shouted Margaret.

Richard turned and ran back into the club, and suddenly Madeline was truly feeling her exhaustion. How many cities did they have left? Four? After Richard disappeared, Claire burst into tears. Amelia gathered up Elaine, Kendra, Penelope, and Temperance and in less than ten minutes, which was mostly spent on Temperance exchanging contact information with the Quidditch player on a cocktail napkin, they were in Paris.

* * *

Paris was a completely subdued affair for more than half of their group. Elaine, Kendra, and Penelope were the three ladies feeling excited about the crowded, well-lit city. It had been raining and everything smelled of dank river water and late-night crepes.

Upon reflection, Madeline was surprised at Margaret's immediate defense of Claire. They had been pseudo-enemies since fourth year, and now Margaret was defending her against the lad who'd started their rivalry. She wasn't sure what Richard's comment meant, but she hadn't forgotten it.

Once in Rio, Madeline and Margaret had found a way to be alone on the veranda of their hotel room, and that was where Margaret divulged everything.

"It was always about Richard," said Margaret softly.

Each woman had a glass of water in their hands and were slowly drinking.

"What d'you mean?"

"The moment Claire and Richard started dating, I was _done_. She _knew_ I'd had a crush on him and took him for herself anyway. And look how it turned out—they weren't happy and—"

"They _were_ happy, Margo. For a _long_ time," said Madeline. "They were the couple I hoped my relationships would be like. They were in love!"

"Bloody puppy love," said Margaret. "It's nothing compared to yours with Oliver."

Madeline had no response, and she simply watched as Margaret's young, beautiful face crumpled like a lime being juiced.

"The way Oliver looks at you—it's as though he's never seen anything but you. He's always looked at you that way, especially when he thought no one was watching."

"You and Nick obviously were," said Madeline quietly.

Margaret glanced at her friend.

"Part of Nick's heart will always be tender for you—there's no changing that. Just like Claire will never see a man with hair like Richard's without pissing herself."

"I do hope she manages her bladder eventually," said Madeline laughing.

They laughed for a few moments and then settled into a contemplative silence.

"Do you think she'll marry Charlie Weasley?" asked Margaret, her voice taking an odd tone—as if she were straining to sound unconcerned and friendly.

"I don't… I'm not sure," said Madeline automatically. "They seem to be a good pair. I don't know if she'd move to Romania with him, though."

"True."

"I didn't know you'd had feelings for Richard for so long. It's odd, how much we've all inter-dated. You've snogged Richard and Oliver, I've dated Nick, and Claire's been with Richard, and now you're with Nick—it's amazing that any of us are friends."

"Mostly I've just snogged everyone," said Margaret without a hint of humor.

"You and Claire will need to forgive each other eventually," said Madeline after a few minutes of silence.

Margaret stared at Madeline hard for a few moments. Then she took her hand.

"I will always regret not having befriended you sooner," said Margaret. "Claire's been fortunate—more fortunate than she realises."

"You're sloppy," said Madeline with a laugh. "We both are."

"Then let me tell you something that you won't remember by tomorrow," she said, smirking. Her red lipstick had long worn off.

"Alright—get on with it."

"All I want—all I want in this entire world—is to be a mother. Does this information surprise you?"

"No, not really," said Madeline.

"Right. You're more perceptive than I always remember to give you credit for. That's not a bad thing, mind. So, naturally, I felt that Nicolas would be a decent father—he's a handsome, wealthy, Pureblood gentleman. What more could I or my family ask for?"

Madeline eyebrows knitted together, as she wasn't sure where this was going, but Margaret squeezed her hand and continued her speech.

"Nick isn't ready for a lifelong commitment, and I can understand and sympathise with that. But…."

"But?" prompted Madeline, who was watching Margaret's face crumple again.

"But… I've been trying to get pregnant for months, and _nothing's_ _happened_. I'm—I'm afraid he's… what's the word? Impotent."

"Margo—I don't—have you seen a Healer?"

"No," she said quickly, turning her teary face toward the door to the veranda. Madeline looked—Claire was coming toward them. "Don't tell anyone, please?"

"I'll go with you—Margaret, it might be you, not Nick. I'll take you to my mum."

Without a word, Margaret grabbed Madeline and pulled her into a tear-soaked hug.

"What's the matter?" asked Claire when she had joined them outside.

That was when Madeline realised that she was truly shaken, and Claire was an expert at reading Madeline's expressions. Madeline's gaze met Claire's and she shook her head. She would tell her later. Maybe.

"I think Elaine's ready to go to New Orleans. She and Penny have been talking about food for twenty minutes," said Claire. "Is that alright?"

"Of course," said Madeline. "I could use some food."

Margaret nodded in agreement but said nothing. Claire nodded and left them alone again.

"I'll go with you," said Madeline again. "It'll be alright."

When they entered their room in Rio de Janeiro, all the young ladies looked at the red-eyed Margaret with something like surprise. The portkey was activated a few minutes later, and they landed into a hotel parlor room that was garnished in rich velvety plum- and custard-coloured curtains, walls, and cushions. The dark wood complemented the colors, and some in their party stood out like jewels amidst ashes.

"Alright, ladies, we are now in New Orleans. We will be in a Muggle-restricted area similar to Diagon Alley, so there's no need to pretend you're a Muggle. This area is famous for its bars and clubs, so feel free to explore _together_. When you are ready to see our last location, meet back here."

As they exited the hotel, they stood and gaped—the bustling varieties of colours and people and pleasant odours. There was upbeat jazz music pouring through the streets. Elaine, especially, looked thrilled.

"Can we go eat? Let's eat together somewhere! I smell seafood!"

"This is one of the seafood capitals of the United States," said Amelia pleasantly.

"Excuse me?" said a passing man, no older than Amelia, who was covered in tattoos and had unnaturally engine-red hair. "This is _the_ seafood capital of America. I wouldn't go around sayin' 'one of' if I was y'all. We got world-known cooks here in N'awlins. Listen, I can tell y'all ain't from around here, so lemme help y'all out—Madame Sossies—that lil place right there—is the place ta eat. Then y'all won't be questionin' our seafood."

"Thank you, sir," said Elaine happily. "Do relax, please. I love seafood! I'm sure we'll all adore it."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he walked away nodding to himself.

"Defensive, much?" asked Penelope, looking at the group with eyebrows raised.

"That's another thing. Don't say anything negative about New Orleans while we're here. At all. Not a word. They all think it's the best place on the planet."

"You understood a word he said?" asked Temperance quietly. "He sounded foreign."

"There are loads of funny accents in this town," said Amelia. "But let's get over to that restaurant and see about the wait."

"Madame Sosostris. Why does that name sound familiar?" asked Madeline while they crossed the street. There were horse-drawn open carriages pulling tourists around the city, and Madeline wondered briefly if they were Muggle tourists and, if so, what they thought they were seeing.

"Sounds like someone we would've learned about in Divination," said Kendra, shrugging. "Ol' Trelawney probably raved about her and then told us nothing of importance."

"I didn't take Divination," said Madeline to Kendra as they tried to avoid stepping in horse droppings.

"Oh, that's right," she said, laughing.

"It was probably on one of Binn's stupid history tests," said Margaret with a shrug. "I hope they have good local cocktails."

"They have drinks that will literally blow you away," said Amelia with a grin. "I'll go in and see if there's a wait."

"Ten minutes' time, ladies," said Amelia happily as she strode back to them. "We can squeeze into the bar for drinks if you'd like to wait inside."

At the bar, they all ordered a drink called a Hurricane. This drink was spectacular—it raged around in its glass as though it were a real storm, and if it wasn't finished quickly enough, it swirled up and formed a water spout that had to be charmed back into the glass. The bartenders were quick with their wands when they saw the water spouts. The bartenders, too, were splendid. There were two women and three men, and they were all young, cool-looking, and fast. The ladies all watched their bartender—a young man named Jesse—with wide, illuminated eyes. He grinned happily at them while he made their drinks, and his eyes did not linger on any young woman too long. Perhaps he knew better than to make any of them jealous.

Madeline certainly did not feel any special need to flirt with anyone. Yet her mind continued returning to the one man she hadn't thought would be in her thoughts—Nicolas. Margaret's revelation in Rio made Madeline wonder what she was playing at, and whether she would seek other men if Nicolas was, indeed, incapable of producing children. But how could Margaret know that for sure without having a Healer check? Shouldn't Margaret check her own fertility before blaming her partner? What would Nicolas do if he couldn't produce more Tennant offspring? What would his father do? This went far beyond Margaret's baby fever; Nicolas could be negatively affected too. These thoughts and others concerning swirled in her head until the swirling drink was set before her.

"There you are, ma'am. Hurricane."

"Thank you."

"So where are y'all from?"

"Everywhere!" cried Kendra happily, her arms flailing. She'd already finished her Hurricane. Jesse laughed and was waved down by his next customer.

At dinner, Madeline really enjoyed herself. She had been recommended an entree called the "lobster etouffee," which, despite it's mishmashed appearance, was far more delicious than any seafood meal she could recall trying.

After everyone ate and drank two glasses of water, Amelia determined them ready to party again and led them to a dance club named Sauvignon Manque. It seemed to be a dimly-lit room the size of her mother's dining room, but then it expanded before their eyes into a dance club the size of the Great Hall. The DJ in the corner was a thin, dark man with long dreads, and he had lowered the sound not long after the ladies entered. As he spoke, Madeline felt at once that he was the keeper of a great many secrets. His voice had a mysticism to it that she had not often heard.

"This is DJ Hyp, an' I'm happy to be playin' for y'all tonight. Y'all keep dancin' an' the tunes'll keep spinnin'!"

Madeline felt the thumping of the bass like it had become her own heartbeat, pulsing within her moment after moment. The music was intoxicating—thrilling—liberating—Margaret's secrets were no longer a weight on her shoulders, she was free from all her concerns, especially other people's. All that mattered was that she was moving, pulsing, dancing among others.

Time passed especially quickly in New Orleans, and before Madeline could think to order another drink, Amelia was anxiously pulling her out into the street.

"We've got to get to New Zealand. We're running behind," said Amelia.

Rounding up their group was like herding cats: Elaine had finally met a man who could distract her from her fate, and she had been dancing with and snogging him for over an hour; Penny, Kendra, and Temperance were dancing with a group of young, handsome men who were all wearing the same t-shirt; Claire and Madeline had been dancing together but with different men, and Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Margo?" asked Claire.

"I thought you'd know. I haven't seen her," said Amelia.

There was a large fountain at the intersection near their hotel with lifelike statues of mermaids who were dancing to the jazz music that seemed to always be playing, and Madeline thought it might serve as a good rendezvous point.

"I'll keep them together there," said Madeline to Amelia. "While you and Claire look for Margaret."

Madeline then took the arms of Kendra, Elaine, Penny, and Temperance and walked toward the fountain.

"C'mon, we're going to look at this fountain."

"I don't want to," said Elaine with tears in her eyes and a pout on her lips. "I want to keep dancing with Daniel."

"We're going to the fountain. Sorry, ladies."

Once there, Madeline made the four intoxicated women sit on the wide edge of the fountain while she stood guard.

It was only a few minutes later that Margaret's squeals could be heard. Madeline looked around, only to find that Margaret was _in_ the fountain, wading as fast as she could onto the side where they were waiting. She was trying to evade a handsome man, but she was not trying too hard. That was Margaret's way, if such a thing could be pinned down to her. _Never_ try too hard.

The man caught her, spun her around, and kissed her. She broke the kiss, tried to evade him again, and giggled the whole time.

"Margo!" called Madeline intently. "Stop fooling around! It's time to go!"

Margaret pouted but climbed gracefully out of the fountain. The man followed, protested, and was ignored.

"You good-for-nothing—"

Madeline stepped up the man and pushed him away hard. He looked surprised at the strength of this smaller woman.

"She's engaged, you daft idiot. Go away."

"She ain't got no ring," he said triumphantly. "Fuck you."

"I was _using you_ , Barney," said Margaret dismissively.

"My name's Bradley—"

"Go away," shouted Madeline and Margaret simultaneously. He got the hint and stumbled away, mumbling about "damn foreign bitches."

"I'm not engaged, for clarification," she said aloud. "Nick's dragging his feet."

"I suppose Peter is too," said Kendra, her face drooping.

Madeline looked at them, horrified. Is that what tonight was supposed to be about? Impatiently waiting to be engaged?

"Marriage is _not_ all you ladies have to look forward to in your lives," said Madeline with a passion that broke Elaine into tears. "Your importance as a human _does not_ revolve around your relationships with men. You can live your life without being engaged!"

"I'm not ready," cried Elaine. "I'm—"

"You're scared," said Madeline, kneeling in front of her friend. The brick streets were painful for her knees. "That's normal, Elaine. We'll all be there for you, I promise. You're going to be fine. Andrew loves you _so much_."

Elaine continued weeping, and Madeline allowed Kendra to take over the comforting by hugging her tightly.

When Claire and Amelia finally arrived, they were relieved to see them all together, even if half of them were crying.

"She was in the fountain," said Madeline to Amelia with a sigh.

"Naturally. Let's get inside."

Amelia dried Margaret with a spell and soon they were all changing into normal street clothes in their hotel room. They circled up around a portkey for the second to last time.

"Last city, ladies. Queenstown, New Zealand. The sun will be setting on tomorrow."

Though there was general confusion at this statement, no one questioned Amelia's logic, and a few moments later, they were on the veranda of a cabin that overlooked a scene that Madeline would never forget. It was so beautiful that she began to silently weep and Elaine ceased crying immediately.

The lake before them was huge, and the mountains standing proudly around it on all sides were massive and beautiful. Though she'd been surrounded by mountains most of her life, this scene truly took her breath away. There was a city nestled below them, gently squeezed between another mountain and the lake, and the Muggle electricity stood out in the growing dusk.

"We have a few options," said Amelia. "We can go down to the lake, we can watch the sunset here, or we can go to town."

"I vote here," said Elaine. "I'm exhausted."

This was the consensus, and comfortable lounge chairs were conjured for each of them. Amelia forced each of them to slowly drink another glass of water.

Madeline found herself lying, staring at the mountains, and practicing Seti's listening meditation. She heard several things: there was the wind rustling through the trees, and there were birds on this mountain side; but they were preparing for evening, not greeting the morning. Their chirps were subdued and brief. There was also Kendra's heavy breathing, as she had already fallen asleep, and the sound of vehicles passing somewhere beneath them.

It was chillier than Madeline had expected, and Amelia quietly explained that it was midspring in the southern hemisphere, much like it was mid-autumn in the northern. This made sense, for the mountains were still coated in snow, but the plants around them were budding and beginning to bloom. In London and Scotland, everything was dying. As Madeline contemplated the looping of the seasons and the inevitable death and rebirth of the natural world, she wondered if she was decaying or blooming.

As if in response to her internal question, the sun's last rays were peeking over the mountain behind them, casting a beautiful golden light on the mountains opposite them. The sky was a deep, royal blue such as she had never seen, and the lake mirrored this color. As the sun eked out the last of its daily warmth in this part of the world, Madeline thought of Seti and knew that, somewhere, a beautiful sunrise was filling someone's heart with hope.

Soon all the women were asleep except Madeline and Amelia. It grew colder as the sun disappeared, and Amelia asked if she thought they should be getting back. Madeline nodded, and thought of Seti again.

"Can I ask you a question while they're all asleep?"

"Sure," said Amelia. She and Madeline stepped into the cabin just in case, and it was much warmer inside.

"It's more of a statement, really."

"Alright," said Amelia, who was beginning to grow suspicious. "Are you finally going to tell me what you and Seti were gossiping about?"

"Yes," said Madeline. "I inquired, quite inappropriately, if you two were attached. He told me that you had long been attached elsewhere."

Amelia's face grew guarded and her body grew tense.

"You can be angry with Seti for being honest with me, and reproach him if you must. I wouldn't blame you. He attempted to be vague, but then he mentioned St Andrews. You must know that when I'm not in London, I'm there, studying to become a Healer."

Tears glistened in Amelia's eyes.

"Yes," she said, barely moving her lips.

"I've met Patrick. I met him one day when I was out walking. We were both upset and wanted to be outside, even though it's almost always overcast there. He told me a wonderful story about a beautiful woman named Amelia who lived in Cambridge and who he loved more than anything. I cried because it gave me hope that Oliver and I could make it through our brief separations."

Amelia was freely crying now, and Madeline felt tears well up in her eyes too.

"I'm sorry. Seti told me to wait until our evening was over to say something. I needed you to know what his story meant to me. Patrick gave me his library business card and told me to visit him if I felt lonely."

Amelia laughed brightly through her tears and wiped her cheeks.

"Seti shouldn't have told you anything, and I mostly certainly will reproach him," she said. "But thank you. I needed to hear this."

"I thought so."

"I need to visit him and tell him everything, no matter his reaction."

"You can handle it. You're far tougher than any of us," said Madeline. She wanted to say something encouraging about Patrick, but she did not know him well enough to ensure that he wouldn't react poorly.

"Are you ready to be home?"

Madeline nodded.

"Let's wake the poor dears up," said Amelia.

No one objected to going back to London, and soon they were all back in Nick's flat. The men were either gone or not awake, and Amelia began unpacking her purse into piles for each of them. The ladies hugged and said groggy goodbyes. Once they each had their pile of stuff, Kendra, Elaine, Temperance, and Penelope went home. The sun had just risen, it seemed, and Claire offered Amelia a cup of coffee.

"That would be the best gift you could give me," she said, smiling.

"Would it be a poor idea to go to sleep?" asked Margaret with a yawn.

"Only if you have things to do today," said Madeline. "Otherwise, I'd go for it."

As they settled into the kitchen and Claire began making breakfast, Madeline took her pile into Oliver's room, hoping he was still asleep. But he wasn't there, so she changed into more comfortable clothes and rejoined the women in the kitchen.

Margaret finished disassembling Madeline's complicated braids, making her head feel one hundred times lighter, when they all heard the distinct _pop_ , and before them stood a shirtless, wet-haired Oliver Wood. He was dripping all over. Madeline laughed and covered her mouth, tears welling up into her eyes. The only way he could be up early was to go swimming, so he'd likely gone to their normal loch.

She ran to him and he lifted her into his arms. They kissed, and Madeline began laughing again, causing Oliver to chuckle too.

"Get dressed and we'll eat breakfast. We've so many stories for you."

Madeline could tell by passionate glaze of his eyes that he would much rather carry her to his bedroom and never leave, but he nodded and did what he was told.

Claire and Margaret checked their respective bedrooms, and soon all of the men were groggily gathered into the kitchen. After finishing her cup of coffee and breakfast, Amelia tried to dismiss herself. Madeline stopped her from disappearing by hugging her tight.

"Visit often. Tell me how things go," said Madeline.

"I will. Take care," said Amelia.

"Thank you. Really. For everything. I will be contacting you in the future for travel advice."

"I wouldn't expect less," she said, nodding and smiling. "I'll see you soon, Madeline."

And with a pop, she was gone.

"She turned out alright," said Margaret thoughtfully. "I had my doubts."

"She's perfect," said Madeline as she picked up her mug of tea.

"Perfect?" asked Claire and Nicolas simultaneously. Claire rolled her eyes and Nicolas grinned. Oliver laughed into his drink but managed not to choke.

"No one's perfect," said Claire without humor. "That's a lesson I won't soon forget."

"Oh, right," said Margaret. Apparently Claire's seriousness reminded her of all their misadventures. "Dear lads, do we have some stories to tell you. Where shall we start? With Madeline in Bali? Claire in Prague?"

"You snogging a bloke in a fountain?" asked Madeline quickly. "Or sobbing in Rio?"

"Plenty to choose from!" said Margaret happily.

"All in good time, I'm sure," said Oliver. He'd finished eating as quickly as possible and was hurriedly slurping down the rest of his tea when Margaret interrupted. Madeline chuckled—was Oliver so determined to get her alone?

"Madeline was almost eaten by a giant squid in Bali, Oliver Wood. You nearly lost her forever," said Margaret seriously. Madeline felt heat rising into her neck and cheeks, and she looked at her own mug. She couldn't look at him. "And you owe her survival to a gorgeous Balinese man named Seti who was pretty seriously in love with her when we left."

"Margo," said Claire, her tone a warning.

Margaret shrugged, and Madeline glanced up at Oliver, whose mouth was open and eyes were wide with horror.

"Maddie... did you... did—"

"I'm alright," said Madeline with a smile and a nod.

Oliver looked down at his plate, his expression guarded. Margaret pressed on.

"I snogged a bloke in a fountain, as Madeline's already said. It's only fair that Oliver knows that his darling Maddie inspires heroic acts of love no matter where she goes."

"Of course she does," said Nicolas with a laugh. "The three of you could make any man lose his mind. I'm certain plenty of them did.

Though glancing at Nicolas with different expressions, the three women otherwise ignored him.

"What happened in Prague?" asked Charlie, who'd been quiet most of the morning.

Everyone looked at Claire, whose cheeks reddened. She took a deep breath.

"We ran into Richard," she said. "And it was—awful, to say the least."

"The least, indeed!" said Nicolas. "What happened?"

Madeline laughed and though she felt bad about it, she couldn't help it. They all looked at her with shock, and she raised her hands defensively until she could speak clearly.

"Margaret back-handed him into the next century," she said, laughing hard. "That's what happened."

Soon they were all laughing, even Claire, and Margaret took over.

"He said a bunch of rude things and kept shouting to Claire that he still loved her, and we eventually got him to bugger off. All it took was Madeline asking Amelia for her wand! It was beautiful."

"He kept saying that he wanted to talk to Claire, but we weren't going to let that happen," said Madeline.

"I don't even remember what he said to make you slap him, Margo. What was it that he said?" asked Claire.

"It was rude," said Madeline, perhaps a touch too quickly. "It was about her shagging everyone, or some nonsense like that."

No one was suspicious of her being less than truthful, so the discussion turned back to Bali.

"Were you really almost eaten alive?" asked Nicolas. "I thought giant squids were alright."

"Apparently only the one at Hogwarts is," said Madeline with a shrug. The reality of that event hit her hard, and her face showed it. "I'm—I'm lucky to be alive, actually."

"Were you out swimming alone?" asked Oliver. "You're a strong swimmer, even if you don't prefer it to running, but alone in the ocean?"

Madeline shook her head with a frown and Claire interjected.

"A few of us were out there, but that guy was the first to reach her. A much better swimmer than any of us while intoxicated, too," she said. "And, to top it off, none of us had our wands. Amelia had them in her purse. Only Seti had a wand."

Another lie, and Madeline stared at her tea. Claire and the others _hadn't_ been out there; they only came when the bracelets alerted them to her danger.

"It was terrifying," said Margaret, ending the conversation.

"Well," said Nicolas as he wrapped Margaret in his arms, "you're all back, safe and sound, where you ought to be. How jealous am I going to be when you tell me how many men you've snogged?"

"Only a little," she said with a playful grin. "I think it was only three. Pathetic, really."

"And you two?" Nicolas asked, looking at Claire and Madeline.

"Oh, don't ask the loyal prudes. The danced and drank and were on their best behavior. Temperance and Kendra, on the other hand…."

"Someone kissed me in Rio," said Claire thoughtfully. She illustrated the event with her hands and arms, zipping up her arms like a mime. "He just leaned right in, held my arms down, and laid it on me. The worst kiss I've ever had. Terrible."

"That's different from you kissing someone. You're still a prude," said Margaret.

"Margo," said Madeline. This time it was her using a warning tone.

"Sorry," she said, shrugging. "We had fun. I think we all cried once or twice."

"That's too true," said Madeline. "I never asked Tempy the name of the Quidditch player she got attached to."

This was interesting news to the men, but as they couldn't remember his name, it didn't go far. Nicolas and Margaret disappeared soon after, and Claire and Charlie went for a walk outside. Madeline cleaned many of the dishes before Oliver pulled her away, scooped her up, and carried her into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed and lied next to her, staring into her eyes.

"Did that man really fall in love with you?"

Madeline nodded, feeling embarrassed.

"Nicolas told me you'd run off and fall in love with some handsome—"

Madeline interrupted him with a kiss, and it lasted for quite some time.

"My heart is yours, and only yours. That's what I learned. That you have chosen me, and I you. My life would not be complete without you."

Emotion flooded Oliver's face and Madeline smiled.

"So never doubt. _Ever again_."

"I won't," he said, kissing her briefly. "Nicolas took me to a strip club. It was awful."

"Awful? Were the women hideous?"

"No—they just weren't you."

* * *

 **Chapter 11: A Windy Wedding**

Madeline enjoyed a few minutes of contemplation and silence before Elaine entered looking both radiant and terrified. She was only wearing a bathrobe but her hair and makeup had just been finished. Madeline had retreated from their primary room to collect her thoughts—Elaine must have followed her.

"Maddie, can we talk?"


	11. A Windy Wedding

**Chapter 11: A Windy Wedding**

"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

– J.R.R. Tolkien

* * *

The week after the bachelorette party passed slowly for Madeline; she found it difficult to memorize the numerous different types of magical fauna and flora injuries and their side-effects when all she could think about was whether Margaret and Nicolas would soon marry and become parents. Worse still was that she could share her preoccupation with no one.

Madeline knew she was being irrational, but Margaret's information cast Nicolas in a different light—she couldn't see him, or think of him, without picturing a dark-haired child near at hand.

Her appreciation for Crispin and his friendship were both renewed, for she was losing heart while he was redoubling his focus. She had made notes for them to review with images of bites, scratches, boils, and infections that looked similar and had only slightly varying symptoms, but she hadn't retained any of the information.

"What's with you, Madeline?" he asked Monday evening, the night they were first reviewing the notes. They had been studying for an hour or so since dinner. "You're hardly ever so distracted."

"I s'pose I've a lot on my mind."

"Listen, I know you'll hate me for suggesting this, but—I think you should stay here for the rest of the week," said Crispin, looking serious. She had told him much about Nicolas' flat, but she hadn't revealed quite everything.

"You're right," she said, sighing. "I actually need to go see my parents. I need to talk to my mum about something. Could we meet before breakfast in the morning to review these?"

"Sure. I won't be asleep anytime soon if you'd rather—"

"I think I need some sleep," said Madeline, frowning. "I'm sorry. Good night."

With that, she went to one of the fireplaces. She took up some of the Floo powder from the fireplace mantle, tossed it, and stepped in. After saying her father's name, she stepped out into their home. Her mother looked up from her book in surprise.

"Maddie? What're—are you alright?"

"Yes. I wanted to see you," she said, brushing off her soot and dust from her arms and legs before sitting next to her mother. Olivia hugged her.

"You look tired, dear," said Olivia quietly.

"I am. Where's da—"

"Asleep, already, I'd wager. He's had a long week, too."

"I need to talk to you about something to do with Healing," said Madeline, knowing that if she led in with something medical, her mother would panic less. "We haven't studied it yet, but I suppose it's more of a specialty, like memory."

"What is it? If it's a specialty, I may not have a good answer for you," said Olivia.

"It's about fertility, actually—and before you panic, I'm not pregnant or trying to become pregnant," said Madeline, raising her hands defensively. "It's one of my friends from school. She desperately wants to be a mum. When she told me, I asked if she had seen a Healer. There are fertility specialists, aren't there? Healers who tend to pregnant women?"

"Of course," said Olivia. "What's her hurry?"

"Oh, I've no idea. She just told me this weekend," said Madeline.

"Right, well, fertility is a complex branch. It requires mastery of a great deal of anatomy studies and, surprisingly, knowledge of Muggle obstetrics."

"Muggle _what_?"

"Obstetrics—Muggles' study of the female reproductive system, like the ovulation cycle and pregnancy. This is one of the few areas where Healers are cross trained. Yet like most branches, deviation and unique situations are the most terrifying to prepare for and encounter. What's your friend's concern, I wonder?"

"That her partner is impotent," said Madeline with a shrug. Olivia's eyebrows shot up.

"Impotent or infertile? There's a difference."

"Oh. Er… the latter, I suppose."

"They would each have to be tested," said Olivia. "That's all there is to it."

"So I need to coerce her into making an appointment? Do you recommend anyone?" asked Madeline.

"We can arrange something. Don't worry about this. She may have no idea what she's saying or doing."

"True," said Madeline thoughtfully. She hadn't considered that Margaret might not know her body as intimately as she thinks. "I'll have her set up an appointment. Do you want me to let you know?"

"Sure," said Olivia. "I can be there. This isn't… Claire, is it?"

"No, it's Margaret. You met her at the World Cup. She was with Nick," said Madeline as she stood. "I probably should get back to studying now."

"Let me know if you need anything," said Olivia, who stood and hugged her daughter. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied. "I'll come back soon, I promise."

Without another word, Madeline apparated to Oliver's room in their flat. He sat up in his bed, surprised by the sudden _crack_ , and his face softened.

"I didn't think you'd come," said Oliver. "I was almost asleep."

Madeline walked over to his bed, crawled on top of him, and lied there, heavy and motionless. She had started doing that because he was always warm and he didn't mind her weight pressing on him. She nuzzled and kissed his neck.

"I won't be around much this week. It's our last week before the Practicum. I have to do really well, and I haven't been concentrating like normal."

"That's alright; visit when you can," said Oliver. He rubbed her back as they spoke.

"Just a few more months before I can leave that manor and stay here with you always."

"As soon as I have enough money saved, we'll have our own place," said Oliver. He yawned and Madeline pushed up, moved to his side, and looked at his face.

"You're serious?"

"D'you think I want to live in London permanently? Merlin, Maddie. Nick and Claire are great, but you're the only person I want to see _every damn day_."

Madeline nodded and lowered herself next to him.

"They're talking about throwing a party, and I have no idea who they'll invite or what's the excuse. I'm already annoyed with Nick about—"

"I'm sorry—I've just remembered—is Margo out there?"

"I dunno."

"I need to talk to her," said Madeline. "It's—important."

"Go check. I'll wait up," said Oliver. "You're not leaving without a goodnight kiss."

"I'll be back," she said, smiling.

Madeline stood from the bed and exited his room, hoping to see the dark-haired woman lounging about, complaining about something. Instead, Claire and Charlie were playing Muggle chess.

"Hey, Maddie," said Claire. It looked to be Charlie's turn, as he was staring thoughtfully at the motionless chessboard. "You've missed dinner."

"That's alright. I probably won't be around much this week," said Madeline with a sigh. "Have you seen Margaret?"

"They went to Nick's room not too long ago," she said with a shrug.

Madeline nodded and began making her way toward Nicolas' door when Claire spoke.

"I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," she said. "Heaven knows what they're doing."

"I know what they're doing, and I don't care. I need to talk to Margaret," said Madeline. She walked to his door and knocked very loudly. After a few moments of muffled noises, Madeline spoke.

"Margaret, if you're in there, we need to talk," she said loudly.

Then there was a brief silence, followed by a groan and some shuffling. Madeline was pleased to see that she had dressed herself before opening the door, even if it was in Nicolas' clothes. The room was dark save for three or four candles.

"What could be so important that you—"

"We have to talk," said Madeline in a low, urgent voice. "Now."

Margaret cast a glance toward the common area and then pulled Madeline inside. Nicolas had found the decency to pull on some random trousers, and Madeline was thankful.

"I spoke with my mum, and—"

Suddenly, Madeline couldn't speak—Margaret had silenced her. She hadn't noticed the wand in her hand.

"Nick, out, if you please," said Margaret.

Madeline found her wand and unsilenced herself while Margaret was distracted.

"You're bloody joking," he said, looking murderous. "First we're interrupted, and suddenly—"

"I promise this is not a conversation you want to hear," said Madeline. She picked up a t-shirt and tossed it at him as he stomped out of the room. After watching Nicolas walk far away from the door, Margaret turned to Madeline.

"This better be good," said Margaret. "What did your mum say?"

"That you should be tested if you aren't sure, but that often it's just a matter of knowing your ovulation cycle."

"My _what_?"

"We need to make you an appointment with a Healer who knows more than I do. I don't have time to learn everything about male and female fertility right now, but you do. Do some research, and let's make you an appointment. I can only be with you if it's a Saturday or Sunday, otherwise you'll be on your own."

"I'll visit tomorrow and let you know," she replied, her face scrunched in a thoughtful way. "But I don't want Nick to know. I don't want _anyone_ to know. Will they test him?"

"I'm not sure—it'll depend on what they think. Let me know how tomorrow goes. I won't be around much this week, so send me an owl."

"Got it," said Margaret as she opened the door and let Madeline exit. "And Maddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

The sincerity radiating from Margaret's eyes surprised Madeline for a moment, but she smiled in return and made her way back to Oliver's room, passing Nicolas, Claire, and Charlie on the way.

"Why are you and Margo suddenly sharing secrets?" asked Nicolas, who looked as though he had calmed considerably.

"I'm just doing her a favor," said Madeline tersely.

* * *

Only Oliver saw Madeline again until Saturday morning, and they were in the kitchen making breakfast when Claire emerged looking groggy and disheveled.

"Morning," said Oliver. "What would you like? Eggs? Scone? Beans? Ham?"

"Coffee," Claire replied. "I need to polish off that cereal Nick decided he didn't like… after eating half the box."

It was a bright autumn day, and they had already gone for a light run, despite Oliver's protests. Madeline was in a much better mood than she had been all week—she passed her last exam from Madam Gowling, and she and Crispin would begin their practical training on Monday. She was also visiting St Mungo's with Margaret that afternoon and would afterward be done with that mess. Hopefully.

As Claire tucked into her brightly coloured cereal, she asked if the Daily Prophet had arrived, and Madeline frowned, shaking her head in response—she too had been waiting to read it.

"Rita Skeeter has been tearing into the Ministry, and it's all anyone can talk about at work," Claire explained. "It's gotten to the point where I have to actually read her rubbish to know what they're all jabbering about."

"She's a nasty woman," said Oliver. "My parents hate her something fierce."

"I don't understand why the Daily Prophet publishes her nonsense," said Madeline.

"She attracts readers," said Claire with a shrug. "And she has actually done some pretty impressive investigative journalism, especially in her younger years. I've read some of her old pieces, and she… just _knows_ how to get someone to talk."

"Coercion, probably," said Madeline doubtfully.

"I'm serious. Her writing has never been decent but she's always managed to _get the story_ —uncover something new—when she's done an investigation," said Claire. "It's impressive to the people who are looking to make money from those secrets."

Madeline and Oliver didn't have anything contradictory or additional to say, so they shrugged and went back to eating. Claire was starting on the dishes when Augustus and another owl flew through the window.

Augustus flew straight to Oliver, who already had a scrap of toast prepared for him.

"Traitor," Madeline muttered to her beautiful owl as he let Oliver take the mail. He blinked and hooted. There were several letters to sort through, and Augustus was clearly proud of himself for carrying so many. The other owl, a young, squat screech owl, landed near Oliver as well, hoping for a treat, and Claire tended to him.

"Elaine's having another panic attack," said Madeline, sighing as she read through Elaine's latest owl. "There are tear smudges and her handwriting isn't as steady as it normally is."

"What's she worried about?" asked Oliver.

"Everything, naturally. I might have to visit her—even just briefly—today or tomorrow."

"There are three letters here from the Ministry," said Claire to Madeline, her voice low. "One for you and Nicolas… and one for me?"

"Where?" asked Madeline, suddenly in a hurry to glance through all the mail. "Which office is it from?"

Claire was scanning the letter in her hands with furrowed brows, too busy to be distracted. She sank into the nearest chair, her eyes wide.

Madeline found the letter addressed to her and began opening it shakily. The ministry owl sneaked a piece of ham while they were all distracted and flew away. Augustus squawked indignantly and gently nipped at Oliver—where was his extra treat for being loyal?

The letter was formal, with swirled handwriting, and featured Madam Amelia Bones' signature. It was from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"What does it say?" Oliver asked quietly.

"I'm to meet with Madam Bones for an interview. It's the first round of… selection for Auror training."

"That's what mine says as well," said Claire, who looked up at Madeline. "How did _I_ make the list?"

"I dunno," said Madeline.

She re-read the letter. It was brief but seemed formulaic. How many of her peers had received similar letters? Had… _had Richard received one_? Madeline couldn't tell if Claire's thoughts had lingered on the contents or had jumped to the same conclusion. Richard was the best in their year at Defense, except...

"It's not surprising, of course, that you and Nick got them," said Claire. "But _me_? An Auror?"

"Claire, if you like your job, what's it matter?" asked Oliver in his usual tone: confident, rational, polite. "You _can_ say no."

Claire was silent. She stared at the letter, her fingers covering her lips, her fingertips glittering red. Madeline and Oliver were exchanging confused shrugs and glances when Nicolas stumbled groggily out of his room.

"I heard an owl," he mumbled, as if that properly explained his disheveled hair, naked torso, sleep-crusted eyes, and intermittent yawns.

"Two, actually," said Oliver.

Nicolas' eyes roamed from Oliver to Madeline and finally settled on Claire.

"What's happened?" he asked, looking suddenly awake.

Oliver handed Nicolas his own letter and he tore it open.

"It's about damn time," he said with a confident nod. "Maddie?"

"I got one too," she said, nodding as well. "Claire as well."

"What?" said Nicolas, whose eyebrows shot up toward his scalp. "Bollocks."

"It's right here, you arse," said Claire, who waved the letter. "It's not a joke."

"Well if you got one, who _else_ got one?" he asked, waving his arms around as though motioning to a crowd of people. "How many of our classmates are qualified to be an Auror? Who took the correct classes and who succeeded in them?"

"Several of us," said Madeline. She didn't want to list them.

"Margo took the same classes and scored well on all of her exams—so why didn't _she_ get a letter?"

"Nick, shut it," said Madeline. "Eat some breakfast and stop talking."

To everyone's surprise, Nicolas did what he was told without a word. He busied himself by boiling some water and scrambling more eggs. Eventually Claire spoke.

"I'm going to see if Charlie's awake," she said, and disappeared into her room.

When Claire was gone, Oliver sighed heavily.

"What?" asked Madeline.

"The idea of you three being Aurors…" he said, shrugging.

"I wonder if someone noticed her at the World Cup," said Madeline. "Someone in the Ministry, I mean. Not the nutter who cursed us."

"It's possible," said Oliver, nodding with seriousness.

"I just hope Richard isn't at the interview," mumbled Madeline.

"That was my first thought too," said Nicolas, whose eyes and voice were dark. "But… I hope he is. I'd like to have a _nice_ little chat with our old mate."

"Oh, and what would you say? 'You're a rotten mate, hope you're having fun in New York'?" asked Madeline sarcastically.

"Nah, I'd just like to see the look on his face when I tell him Claire's shagging Charlie Weasley," said Nicolas.

"Lovely. I have to get dressed. Margo should be here soon."

"Ah yes, your little date. Still won't tell me where you're going?"

"As I've said, Nick, you won't know until she wants you to know."

"I know for a fact that it concerns me, else you two wouldn't be hiding it," said Nicolas.

"That's not a fact so much as it is a supposition," said Madeline with a smile. "Oliver doesn't know either, and it might have everything to do with him."

"Fine!" said Nicolas, who threw his fork into the sink. "Fine."

For a moment, Madeline looked at the brooding Nicolas through this new lens of fatherhood. Though she believed it suited him, she realised that he still had a lot of maturing to do before being responsible for the life of a fragile, helpless human being. Tenderness, and a touch of her love for him, bubbled into her chest. Madeline made her way to the sink and hugged Nicolas.

"What're you doing, Maddie?"

"Reminding you that I care about you," she said, matching the softness of his tone.

Madeline felt Nicolas' shoulders shrug, perhaps aimed at Oliver, and he tightened his arms.

"Oof—wha—Nick—"

"I care about you too, Maddie."

"Please don't crush my spine," she gasped.

"What? I'm showing that I care!"

"Nick—Ol—"

"Give it a rest, mate," said Oliver, who sounded as though repressing laughter.

A small crack announced Margaret's arrival.

"Alright, Margo's here—I need to get dressed," said Madeline. Nick still had her trapped in his arms.

"You're plenty dressed," he said, laughing. "Else Oliver wouldn't have let you out."

" _Let_ me out?" asked Madeline, who began squirming and fighting against him.

"Nicolas, what are you doing?" asked Margaret laughingly.

"I'm showing Maddie that I care about her," he said, grinning.

"Ooo, here, let me help," she said, running over and placing her arms around both Madeline and Nicolas. Madeline was effectively smooshed between them.

"As cute as this is," said Madeline, who spoke while the couple shared a kiss, "I really do need to get ready. We don't want to be late."

"The poor dear's right, Nick. Let's free her… for now," said Margaret.

Once free, Madeline stretched and eyed Oliver angrily.

"Some help you are," she said, lifting her mug of tea. "Couldn't even move from you plate."

"You had the situation under control," said Oliver with a smile. "Mostly."

* * *

The waiting room was a soft shade of lime, and Margaret sat quietly reading a book, her long hair falling into soft waves of black silk. Madeline, too, had brought a book, but she couldn't concentrate—she was too busy watching the Healers, male and female, old and young, bustle back and forth from one important destination to another. Madeline hadn't done any observations yet, and being in St Mungo's was like being back in Madam Gowling's manor, imagining herself in a lime green coat.

The letter she had received—that she, Nick, and Claire had received—made her heart beat frantically. Could she be a Healer _and_ an Auror? She knew the benefits of being cross-trained were excellent, but was one profession intrinsically better than the other? She would need to make a pros and cons list later…

"Why are you acting like the nervous one? Stop shaking," said Margaret. "Take a deep breath and calm down."

"It's exciting to be here. I've been studying so much and haven't done any observations or anything," said Madeline. "It's like I'm at Hogwarts again—there's so much to do and learn."

"Well stop shaking your leg—you look like a nutter."

"I wonder where my mum is—she was supposed to be here a few minutes ago," said Madeline. "I hope everything's alright."

"Take a few more deep breaths for me," said Margaret, her voice low and her gaze serious. "And stop talking. You're making me nervous, and _I don't get nervous_."

Madeline nodded and directed her gaze to her casual canvas shoes. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Nothing to worry about. What was it that Seti taught me? Count to five or something?_

"I wonder—"

"No, no wondering," said Margaret. "Read. Distract yourself."

Madeline nodded again and took a few more deep breaths. Margaret was acting surprisingly cavalier, and it seemed to Madeline as though some of Nicolas' traits had rubbed off on her. Yet the more Madeline reflected on this, the more she remembered that Margaret had always had a surprising amount of composure, but she used it only when she felt the need to exercise it.

"Margaret Bradbury?"

Madeline and Margaret both looked up to see a woman about their mums' age near the far door. She was holding a clipboard and quill, and she had a bright, lime-and-turquoise coloured chameleon on her left shoulder. Surprised but not stunned, Margaret stood. Madeline, however, couldn't stop wondering why the woman had a lizard on her shoulder. Margaret took her by the hand and pulled her over.

"I'm Miss Bradbury," she said once closer. "And this is—"

"You must be Olivia's daughter!" said the woman immediately. "I haven't seen you since you were a tiny tot! You look just like her—except your father's nose, of course."

That was new. Madeline hadn't heard the bit about her father's nose before, and her eyes narrowed with fascination and confusion at the middle-aged woman standing before her. Margaret laughed politely and asked if Madeline's mother was around.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't seen her all morning. She's usually quite busy, though, so that is no surprise for us. If you're ready, Miss Bradbury, you can follow me."

They followed the woman, whose name-tag read "Lucy," into a similarly decorated but smaller waiting area where all the patients, and all the caretakers, were women.

Margaret chuckled about Madeline's nose while they looked around a bit. There were bright, large windows charmed to display mid-morning sunlight; there were also lime-green and white pieces of furniture that looked as though they needed a fresh coat of paint; and there were several women only slightly more advanced in years than Madeline and Margaret whose faces betrayed anxiety and nervousness. There was only one woman who was visibly pregnant, a sweet-faced, dark-complexioned woman who was busily tending to a crossword. Madeline watched as her eyes lit up when she discovered an answer, and as she went to write her answer, she dropped her pencil. Faster than she realised, Madeline was there, picking it up.

"Thanks, dear," said the pregnant woman with a groan. "It's a pain, bending over, see."

"I can imagine," said Madeline. "Enjoy your puzzle."

"Tell me—d'you happen to know—I've only got two left, and I've got pregnant brain."

"Pregnant brain?"

"Yeah—it's like, well you see, when you're pregnant, you go out for groceries and can't recall what you need. You forget everything! At least, I do, and this is my second go at it."

"Your second pregnancy?" asked Madeline, whose voice remained hushed, though she wasn't sure why. No one was disturbed by their conversation, at least not visibly. Margaret rushed over and sat with them.

"Yes, I'm supposed to be having a girl. Thank Merlin, too, because I don't need another boy. One's enough, believe me," said the woman.

"You've a little boy?" Margaret asked, a dreamy look on her face.

The pregnant woman looked hard at Madeline and Margaret before nodding.

"Aye, I do. Don't—don't tell me you're here because one of you is pregnant. You can't be older than 17."

"I'm… having a few things looked at," said Margaret.

"And you?" asked the woman, looking at Madeline.

"Emotional support," she replied.

"Look—no offense—but you should be enjoying your youth, not producing more youth," said the woman, whose sweet face had taken on a serious look.

"I'm _ready_ ," whispered Margaret. "It's all I want."

" _Really_?" asked the woman unabashedly. "Having a child is _all you want_? You want twenty years of responsibility and money and care? You're bloody joking."

Margaret straightened her back and looked at her hands. The stubborn-silence move worked well against men, especially men their age, but it made the woman laugh.

"Alright, then, fine! That's all you want, sure. I just thought you should be reminded of what you're getting yourself into. If you want to be around babies, find a job in childcare. If you want to experience the _real joy_ of birthing a child, volunteer here, and see what it's like. But know what you're doing before you become pregnant, for Merlin's sake."

Margaret stubbornly stared at the ground.

"How old were you… when you had your boy?" asked Madeline.

"Twenty one," she said, looking at Madeline straight on. Her eyes were pale blue and reminded Madeline of Dumbledore's eyes, except without the twinkle. "It's been wonderful, honestly, and my husband has been great. But your life doesn't revolve around you and your priorities once you have a child. Nothing about you matters except that you care for him or her and don't muck it up too badly. I won't tell you that you're too young, because you seem like a level-headed and responsible young woman. I just wanted you to know that there are more things to consider than simply having a darling little version of you or your boyfriend running around."

"Thank you," said Margaret quietly.

"It was not my intention to upset you. I meant only to enlighten."

The woman was soon called into one of the rooms and disappeared quietly. Margaret said nothing until Olivia entered the room, and by the time they reached the Healers, she had all but changed her mind.

* * *

The weeks leading up to Elaine's wedding passed like water slipping through fingers—Madeline thought she had a handle on it, but suddenly she was sitting in front of a large, ancient-looking mirror and having her hair and makeup completed by a French man named Jacques-Pierre. It was in that chair, staring incomprehensibly at her own reflection, where she reflected on the past month or so.

Oliver and his reserve team had thus far won all their matches, and he was pleased with his progress and his team's success. Madeline had been able to attend, thankfully, and was pleased to find out that Joanna Rateliff finally had a boyfriend.

Though now less intent on childbearing, Margaret learned a great deal about her reproductive system and had not mentioned anything to Madeline since their visit to St Mungo's. She did, however, seek out a position at a wizarding childcare center and was in her first week of work.

Charlie Weasley wasn't around as much, as they were finally transporting the dragons to the Hogwarts grounds, and there was a great deal of work to be done. Claire did not seem bothered or unhappy about his absence, but Madeline was fairly certain that he managed to always see her in the wee hours between Claire's bedtime and daylight. He also kept them abreast of the goings-on at Hogwarts. They learned that Cedric, Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Harry Potter had been selected as the Triwizard champions, that no one, including Harry, knew how he had been selected, and that the first challenge for the champions would be dealing with nesting mother dragons.

This information was surprising (and unsurprising) in many ways. No one knew that Viktor Krum was still in school, so that was news. Oliver and Nicolas were bummed that Cedric was chosen over Angelina Johnson, but Madeline wasn't surprised—he had a heart of gold and wasn't as dim as they all thought. The true mystery, however, was how a fourteen-year-old boy had managed to trick the Goblet of Fire into choosing _another_ Hogwarts champion. Oliver and Madeline were certain Harry hadn't done this, and Claire was inclined to agree, but the others thought he had intentionally flouted the rules. Either way, Madeline was worried. Something bad always happened when Harry Potter was in danger, and he was most certainly in danger. Yet life went on, and Madeline had to focus on how to balance her two burgeoning careers.

Nicolas, Madeline, and Claire all sat for their interviews for the Auror training program, and they all made it to the next round, which was a physical test of endurance and defensive skill. When they all passed that, they were accepted into the training program on a probationary basis. The first six months would include night classes, which allowed Claire and Madeline to maintain their work, and the next six months would be an intensive shadowing portion, about which they forbade questions. From what they saw, none of their other classmates, not even Richard, had been asked to interview for the program. Nicolas had been surprised that Claire had not rejected their offer, but, then again, he hadn't been at the World Cup.

Madeline and Crispin had begun the practicum portion of their Healer training, which meant shadowing Healers for seven hours a day, six days a week. Both were exhausted but happy to be advancing in actual work. Though neither Crispin nor Madeline had yet proven an affinity for a certain sub-discipline of healing, they were both assured that they were progressing at a normal rate. The practicum would officially end in December, and then they would be placed in a ward for additional (yet paid) mentoring and work. Madeline was concerned, as Claire was, about maintaining two careers, but so far it was going well. The only drawback, other than having little time for meals and rest, was having her time with Oliver even more limited. She began swimming with him in the mornings just so she could see him before work.

"Maddie, dear, d'you hear me?"

It was Elaine's voice. Madeline blinked, recognized her own reflection, and turned to look at Elaine. The woman doing her hair was taking so long that Madeline nearly dozed off. Because there were so many people moving around and talking, the room they were in was quite warm and cozy.

"What?"

"You were daydreaming," said Elaine with a sweet smile.

"Probably of Oliver," said Kendra from another hairdresser's chair. Her tone, Madeline noticed, was slightly tinged with envy. Madeline forced herself not to roll her eyes.

"We're about to start your makeup. What colors do you usually pair with your eyes?" asked Elaine.

"Don't ask her—she won't know," snapped Margaret with impatience. "I usually pair her with golds, greens, and sometimes blues or purples. But for today, she really only needs clean lines. Maybe some gold accents, but not too much. Her lips, though, definitely need some color."

Jacques-Pierre, who had started applying some sort of foundation to her face, nodded.

"She's right. Tonight, your lips will be ze focal point," he said. "But first—you are too ruddy. Close your eyes."

Madeline did as she was told, thinking of Elaine's last-minute decision to make all the women in their year bridesmaids.

They had all spent the night before the wedding together in Elaine's comfy but rather small room—which Claire and Madeline magically extended—and the evening included cookies, a black-and-white Muggle film called _Notorious_ , and crying. Kendra opened up about how her relationship with Peter had flatlined, Elaine cried out of nerves, Margaret cried silently while watching the Muggle film, and Claire cried (only to Madeline, later when they were in the garden) because she didn't want to leave the library but wanted to learn how to defend herself and others.

Though the sensation of someone else doing her makeup wasn't new, it was relaxing, and Madeline nearly dozed off again. Instead, she thought of her fellow bridesmaids, one by one, as powders and liquids were applied to her face and neck.

Kendra was oscillating between hyper-excited for Elaine and secretly-but-obviously dismayed that this wasn't her wedding. Peter still hadn't proposed, and it was becoming a point of contention (in Kendra's mind) that Oliver was likely to propose to Madeline before Peter to Kendra.

Penelope, too, was disillusioned with Percy. They had barely communicated all summer, and since the bachelorette party, she had been thinking of starting to date around. She and Kendra talked about this topic a great deal, as Kendra felt certain that Percy would never be as dedicated to a woman as he was to his career. It was hard to argue against her.

Temperance was calm and elegant, as always. Though she hadn't invited her Quidditch-playing man to the wedding, she spoke of him—his name was Ademar—with a small, enigmatic smile that infuriated Kendra and amused the others.

Margaret was, unsurprisingly, giving lots of advice during the hair and makeup session, but was otherwise content with gossiping or reading her latest book. She and Claire both sat together, reading and occasionally speaking, for most of the morning of the wedding.

Andrew, who had several handsome friends for groomsmen, was hoping that some of his friends could "meet" Elaine's friends; but only Temperance was technically single, and she was casually seeing the Quidditch player she met in Prague.

Once her hair and makeup was done, Madeline escaped to a cooler room. It was down the hall and had large bay doors that opened to a distant part of the veranda on which they would all be celebrating later tonight if it didn't keep raining. As she stood near the window, wearing her bridesmaid dress, she looked down at herself from every possible angle. The pale-pink colour of the dress suited her skin, but insecurity trickled into her heart through the smallest crevices. She certainly wasn't much compared to Temperance, Claire, Margaret, and even the wedding-flushed Elaine, but Madeline knew that Oliver didn't care. And that was some comfort.

Madeline enjoyed a few minutes of contemplation and silence before Elaine entered looking both radiant and terrified. She was only wearing a bathrobe but her hair and makeup had just been finished. Madeline had retreated from their primary room to collect her thoughts—Elaine must have followed her.

"Maddie, can we talk?"

"Sure," said Madeline. Elaine shut the door and shuffled up to the window. The sky was grey and full of thick clouds.

"I… well, I'm a little worried about tonight."

"Tonight? Care to elaborate on _which part_ of the evening that's got you worried?"

"Well… after Andrew and I leave," she began quietly, "I will have to... will we most likely…"

Elaine let her voice softly fade, leaving Madeline to guess at her fears. Madeline's burgundy-painted lips fell open.

"You haven't talked to Andrew about it?" Madeline asked, frowning. She couldn't imagine a more nerve-wracking and terrifying event to anticipate—how does anyone go about the whole 'wedding night' scene, anyway? Madeline hadn't the foggiest, and she certainly would be thinking of Andrew differently the whole evening.

"No," said Elaine tearfully. "Of course not—all of this happened so quickly! And you know I don't think ahead carefully."

"Well, my only immediate advice is that the anticipation of something is usually worse than the… y'know… actual thing," said Madeline with confidence. She hoped with all her heart that her words could ease her nerves.

"You're right," she said, nodding. Then she began taking short, shallow breaths. "I don't know if I can do this!"

Madeline had her wand in her left hand, the one facing the window, and she cast a nonverbal calming charm over Elaine.

"You're going to be fine," said Madeline, placing her right hand on her friend's shoulder. "We made indoor contingency plans in the event of more rain, everyone is doing precisely what you've asked, and Andrew's heart has been skipping beats all morning just thinking about you."

"Really?" she asked, still trying to rein in her tears. Thankfully all their makeup was magically sealed against tears and rain.

"Yes," said Madeline, smiling as lovingly as she could. She thought of Oliver and the smile settled naturally. "He loves you more than absolutely anything, and if you tell him that you're scared and nervous, he will understand. He's probably just as nervous, honestly."

Elaine laughed in a hiccupy sort of way and nodded.

"I'm surprised you haven't done it already, to be perfectly honest," said Madeline after a few moments. "He's—quite dedicated to you."

"It's because I've been putting it off," she said. "Every time we came close, I would shrivel up with fear."

"Hold on a moment—I'll be right back. No—don't move. I promise I'll be right back," said Madeline. When she found Claire and Margaret both reading by a window, she explained the situation and bade them to follow her.

"Elaine's freaking out about her wedding night. They haven't done it yet," said Madeline. "I don't know what to tell her. She needs to hear from experts. C'mon, follow me."

"Experts?" asked Claire, her eyebrows jumping up. "You're joking."

"Compared to _me_?" asked Madeline, and Margaret laughed.

"I'll comfort her," she said, striding down the corridor. As she entered the room, she said, "Elaine! Darling!"

"Maddie! D'you have to tell _them_?" asked Elaine.

"I don't have any advice to give you," said Madeline. "I'm sorry, but you know I don't."

"Sit down, the both of you, and listen carefully," said Margaret. Claire rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and stood next to Margaret. "Because sex can be tricky. You've got to be in control and letting go of control at the same time, and this takes _practice_. You won't get it right the first time. But after a few months of—"

"Oh, _for Merlin's sake_ —STOP," said Claire. "She's fretting about _tonight_ , not contemplating the entire complex system of intercourse."

Claire stepped forward and pulled Elaine up into a hug. When the embrace ended, Claire took Elaine's hands.

"You don't need sex lessons from us. You don't even need to be particularly worried about tonight, because the whole point of sex is _exploring_. As Margo has suggested, that takes time. It also takes a sense of humor, which I know you and Andrew both have. Let it happen as _naturally_ as it can. The first time is always awkward, whether it's your wedding night or any other time, alright?"

Elaine nodded.

"Andrew wants you to be happy, so if he knows that you are uncomfortable or scared, he will do everything in his power to make you feel better," said Claire.

"And if he doesn't, withholding sex will make him do just about anything," said Margaret with a sly grin. "I have a theory that—"

"No time for theories," said Kendra, who burst in suddenly. "You two should go back to the ballroom. We've pictures to take!"

Madeline instructed Elaine to take several deep breaths while Claire and Margaret left, and while she and Kendra had their backs turned, she performed a mild laughing charm on the three of them. They giggled while they helped Elaine into her wedding gown, and they were all happily laughing through the photographs. The photographer took as many pictures as she could without the bride and groom together, and soon they were walking to the ballroom where the ceremony was to take place. A light drizzle continued outside, and the wind battered against the windows and doors.

They were all standing at the door to the ballroom, each in the champagne-colored gown, and Andrew's mother was guarding the entrance, along with some photographers and other wedding coordinators. Madeline was astonished at the amount of effort, including the number of humans, that went into the planning and execution of this wedding. They lined up, Natalia placed between Madeline and Kendra, and were looking out at the large venue where everyone was seated (except for the groom and the official). The groomsmen were paired with each of the bridesmaids, and Madeline was paired with a tall man named Remi. He smiled at her politely, mumbled something in French, and swiftly placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. The other Frenchmen were doing the same. Elaine stood with her father about twenty paces behind the rest of the procession.

The pairs lined up, and at the correct musical cue, they each proceeded down the aisle and lined up again. It wasn't until she was watching Natalia follow her that she saw him.

* * *

Nicolas had not, in recent years, been to a wedding. He recalled some from his youth and remember them being dull and uninteresting affairs (until he found the cake). But this wedding would, he was certain, be fascinating. He was particularly interested to see how Andrew and Elaine would manage the night, but he was also looking forward to gazing at beautiful women all evening, especially Margaret. But she had been drafted into the wedding party, and he was then given the responsibility, along with Oliver and Charlie Weasley, to help seat the bride's guests.

This would have seemed a remarkably tedious task had they not taken shots of scotch beforehand. (He was becoming a scotch snob, Claire had warned, but he didn't quite care.)

The task also required a lot of small talk, which he was generally good at but also rather hated.

For instance, when an elderly woman asked him if he was the groom, he had to laugh charmingly and point to Andrew for her to understand.

"But you're so handsome!" she insisted. "You'll find a pretty wife someday. If not, I have a granddaughter only a few years your junior—"

"I have a girlfriend," he assured her. "But thanks."

These sorts of conversations made Nicolas weary, but he knew the evening would be full of them. That was what he recalled vividly from his childhood—answering strangers' questions politely and feeling as though they didn't care about his response as long as he wasn't rude or absurd.

"These old nutters—I can't take them anymore," he said to Oliver when he returned to the main entrance to the ballroom. Charlie nodded.

"It'll be over soon," said Oliver bracingly. "Hopefully."

"Well, we've been at it for long enough. Surely they're almost ready," said Nicolas.

When Charlie turned to greet someone, Nicolas turned to see Amelia—the woman who had guided the women for their ladies' night—walking down the corridor toward the ballroom. The man striding next to her, however, is what caught his attention. This man was dark-complexioned and had long, dark hair and a well-groomed beard. He was one of the most handsome men Nicolas had ever seen. Who was this man, and why was his face so devastatingly attractive?

It was a few brief moments later—they were nearly at the door—when Nicolas realised that this was possibly the man from their stories—the man who had purportedly saved Madeline's life from some giant sea squid. Nicolas' stomach dropped, and he sneaked a glance at Oliver, who was smiling happily as though he hadn't yet made the connection.

"Hello, gentlemen," said Amelia brightly.

"Miss Amelia, as beautiful as ever," said Nicolas equally as enthusiastically. "You're looking well!"

"Thank you, Nicolas. How're you, Oliver? Charlie?"

"Well, thanks," said Oliver. Nicolas was proud of him for smiling and nodding graciously.

"Sick of these damned dress robes but otherwise happy to be here," said Charlie.

"I actually had plans for a group tonight, but they cancelled just yesterday," she said, smiling at them all. "Oh—how rude of me—this is my friend Seti. Thankfully, he was willing to be my last-minute date this evening."

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you," said Seti, whose voice washed over them like warm bathwater.

"Wait a moment—Amelia, is this the bloke that saved Maddie's life?" asked Nicolas, his eyebrows shooting up. He wanted to portray himself as only mildly impressed and yet still slightly disbelieving. The scotch suddenly felt like a bad idea and a very good idea; either way, he felt it swirling around in his head, disorientating him ever so slightly.

"It is, yeah," said Amelia, who responded with the same tone as half surprised and half disbelieving. "I'd almost forgotten. That was a... whirlwind of an evening."

"Well," said Nicolas seriously, whose hand flew to his chest, "let me be the first to thank you. Madeline's been dear to me for several years now. I can't imagine how her best friend feels."

Nicolas placed his hand on Oliver's shoulder. Though it would be difficult, and the scotch was making their stomachs squirm, Oliver needed to do this.

"I… very much appreciate your actions," said Oliver. His eyes met Seti's, and the two men gazed at one another. "Madeline is everything to me."

Seti smiled humbly and bowed his head.

"In all my years, I had never met a soul like hers. I can only imagine your attachment," he said. "Though my time meeting those women was brief, I can say that they were each exceedingly beautiful in their own way. My memory does not do them justice, and it will be a pleasure to seem them all again."

This answer seemed to ease the tension—he was excited to see _all_ the women. _Great_ , Nicolas thought. _He's going to flirt with all of them._

"So this is Charlie Weasley, who is a dragon trainer, and this is Nicolas Tennant, who is… erm—"

"I'm an Auror-in-training," said Nicolas.

"Right," said Amelia with a sly grin. "And Oliver Wood is, of course, Madeline's significant other and plays Quidditch for Puddlemere."

"I don't quite remember—are you two gentlemen attached to either of the women of their group?" asked Seti politely.

"I claim Margaret, and Charlie here has won the fair Claire—ha! What a great rhyme," said Nicolas, laughing at his own humor. Oliver and Charlie shook their heads and laughed grudgingly.

"Margaret—yes, I remember—the free-spirited one. Tell me, Nicolas, do you try to—er—how should I say—rein her in?"

" _Rein her in_?" asked Nicolas, his eyebrows shooting up. "Tell me, Seti, how does one _rein in_ the sun or the moon? Why would I challenge the nature of her being?"

"Fair enough, and I didn't mean to offend," said Seti, his humble smile returning. "I don't remember much of her or Claire. I should like to speak with them again this evening."

"Ah, that's alright. Your attention must have been elsewhere," said Nicolas, who intentionally held Seti's gaze.

"Are the ladies still hiding from the groomsmen?" asked Amelia quickly. She looked to Oliver.

"I think so," said Oliver. "We haven't seen them since lunch and haven't seen Elaine all day."

"Mmm," said Amelia, touching her chin with her left hand, her gold-painted fingernails shining at them. "I suppose we'll just see them afterward, like everyone else."

Seti nodded and placed a hand on Amelia's back.

"We should find our seats, yes?" he asked.

As they walked away with Charlie, Nicolas turned to Oliver, thankful that no one else was around.

"That bloke is suspiciously handsome," said Nicolas. "I'll bet he transfigured his own face."

"That's him, Nick, the one that fell in love with Maddie," said Oliver, his voice small. "I was less worried when I thought he looked like Viktor Krum."

"Did you talk to Maddie about it?"

"Briefly. She told me to never doubt her love."

"So don't," said Nicolas. "He might be handsome, but he's not _you_."

"He saved her life, Nick. Even I haven't done that," said Oliver, doubt washing over his face.

"But you would, if need be. You're being a ninny," he said. Nicolas swatted at his friend's head, but Oliver's reflexes kicked in and he caught Nicolas' arm by the wrist. "Seriously, mate, Maddie loves you. If she wanted someone roguishly handsome and mysterious, she would've fallen in love with me. But she didn't, so stop fretting."

"I just… need to see her," said Oliver.

Nicolas nodded. Madeline's presence was soothing to them both, and she would be able to easily placate Oliver's fears. Unless….

No. For Oliver's sake, Nicolas wouldn't doubt Madeline's attachment. She had given Oliver no reason to doubt. There was no way she could harbor feelings for some random wizard, no matter how handsome he was.

"I understand what Andrew meant now," said Oliver quietly. Another older couple was slowly making their way down the corridor.

"What?" asked Nicolas. He'd been distracted by the massive purple hat, adorned with a birds' nest and lifelike birds, sitting atop the old woman's head.

"What Andrew said about passion attracting passion, or whatever. He was right. Maddie will inspire love no matter where she goes."

"Of course she will. And remember, when that Rateliff woman came onto you, did Maddie doubt your feelings? The same sort of thing happened to you—it just happened to be a physical desire rather than an emotional one."

Oliver nodded.

"We can connect with others without damaging our relationships, right?" asked Nicolas.

He thought of Claire and how close they had become since the summer; he trusted her, cared for her, and enjoyed her company, but she would never inspire the same sort of devotion in him as Margaret did—she was his passion embodied in female form. Claire treated him like a brother, as Madeline did—they corrected him, held him to higher standards, and chastised him when he erred. He knew Margaret could do the same, but she often chose not to, and he loved this about her.

"I suppose so," said Oliver.

"All I'm saying is that there's no use fretting over a bloke we'll likely never see again. Hello there! Bride or groom?"

When their jobs were completed, Nicolas, Oliver, and Charlie were shooed away by wedding planners and a woman who declared herself to be Andrew's mother. They look their aisle seats in the middle of the bride's section and waited for the music to change. When it did, the bridesmaids and respective groomsmen began proceeding down the aisle toward Andrew, who was patiently waiting with his hands clasped at his waist.

Nicolas noticed that Andrew hadn't looked nervous or worried all day, and he made a mental note to ask him about it later.

The Maid of Honour was Kendra, and she proudly walked—nearly waltzed—towards the front with her French male counterpart. Nicolas pictured himself standing at the front and watching Oliver and Madeline (he had no idea who else would be Margaret's Maid of Honour) walk towards him with massive grins on their face. He pictured Oliver kissing Madeline's cheek, like an elderly couple still in love, before they parted ways.

Next was Madeline and her respective groomsmen, a tall bloke whose height exceeded Madeline's by nearly a food and a half. He would have been better paired with Andrew's cousin, the girl who followed Madeline, who was at least 5'9". Still, Madeline looked radiant. The color of the bridesmaid dresses suited her well, and her dark lips (which singled her out among the women) stood out even from where he sat. Nicolas glanced and Oliver just to confirm that he was grinning stupidly. Indeed, he was, and her eyes lingered on him, her lips twisted up to the right as though fighting the urge to laugh.

Nicolas watched Madeline's face as Natalia came down the aisle, and her eyes roamed the crowd before lingering at the back. Nicolas watched as her face fell slack, her burgundy lips parted, and her posture tensed. Madeline determinedly turned her eyes to Natalia and forced a smile—he'd seen that a thousand times, but he doubted that anyone besides himself had noticed. Nicolas glanced to see if Oliver had observed this change in Madeline's demeanor, but he was loyally watching Temperance and her partner proceed down the aisle. Nicolas turned to look at the spot where Madeline's eyes had stopped, but he'd already made his guess. It was Seti who had unsettled her, and this unsettled Nicolas. Perhaps there was more to the Maddie-rescue story than they knew.

Though the drizzle had stopped, the wind picked up as Claire made her way down the aisle, and Nicolas found himself no longer concerned with Madeline and the Balinese man. Claire had kept her hair short for the wedding but was planning to transfigure it past the awkward phase afterwards. Margaret swiftly followed, and seeing the two of them stand next to each other was a bit of a shock—Margaret's voluptuous frame seemed softer next to Claire's elegant carriage, and they both appeared graceful next to Penelope, who Nicolas still didn't know very well.

It was then that the music changed and everyone stood to honor Elaine. Andrew's face brightened and went a little slack with emotion, which Nicolas found rather touching. He couldn't imagine himself making that sort of expression no matter the bride—he was too giddy, too easily excited.

Or maybe he wasn't in love like he thought; or maybe he didn't love the same way Andrew did. Nicolas leaned toward the latter. There was no need to get emotional, and Margaret seemed to respect that.

As the couple exchanged their vows, many people cried or teared up, including Elaine, Kendra, and loads of family members. Even Andrew choked up a bit when delivering one of his vows.

Though there were parts of the ceremony that felt meaningful and sincere, the rest of it seemed largely contrived and forced. Would he be expected to fake his way through a ceremony like this? Would Margaret inspire such emotion in him? He wasn't so sure.

Then the couple kissed and nearly flew down the aisle, and suddenly the rest of the wedding party was standing aside so that the planners could make further arrangements. It didn't take long for dozens of elegantly decorated tables and chairs to be arranged for the guests, as well as a banquet line and a dance floor.

Without waiting for Oliver and Charlie, Nicolas took off, determined to find Madeline and talk to her alone, but she was standing with Claire and Margaret near one of the tables closest to the bride and groom's table. They each already had a glass of champagne in hand, and they looked absolutely radiant together—so beautiful, if fact, that he stopped and almost forgot his mission. But he summoned his vast stores of audacity, sauntered over, and pulled Madeline away with a wink at Claire and Margaret.

"What're you doing, Nick?" asked Madeline, grinning with raised eyebrows—her expression of glib suspicion.

"I wanted to ask you a quick question," said Nicolas. "You saw Amelia's date, I presume?"

Madeline's eyebrows narrowed, and not for the first time, Nicolas' stomach fluttered because of Maddie's stupid hazel eyes.

"Yes," she said, her tone low. "What of it?"

"Maddie, I have to ask—"

"Ask _what_?" she asked, tensing.

"What _really_ happened the night Seti saved your life?"

Madeline's eyes darted from Nicolas to Claire and Margaret. Oliver and Charlie had just joined them, and they were glancing toward Nicolas and Madeline.

"Maddie?" asked Nicolas. She closed her eyes.

"What does it matter?"

" _What does it matter_? Are you joking? I saw how you reacted when you saw him. Something tells me that more happened that night than you've revealed."

"Now is _not_ the time for this conversation, and I don't appreciate being accosted about my feelings, _especially_ _by you_ ," said Madeline, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. "Oliver trusts me, and I thought you did too."

She glared at him and then walked away, and though Nicolas was tempted to force her to answer his questions, he let her go. She was right. This wasn't the time. He also felt the weight of her accusation—didn't he trust her? Didn't Madeline always tell the truth?

 _Not this time_ , he thought. _She's hiding something_.

* * *

Madeline was on edge as she walked away from Nicolas and his ill-timed accusations, but being enveloped in Oliver's arms and feeling his lips pressed against her forehead was soothing. She took her glass and began to drink.

"What did Nick want?" asked Claire.

"I'll tell you later," said Madeline.

"He better want to dance," said Margaret. "Or I will happily find a replacement."

The festivities began, and the guests began drinking, eating, and dancing almost immediately. Madeline found relief in that her table was unaccompanied by Amelia and Seti, and the alcohol was helping her to feel less tense, but Nicolas seemed to keep an annoyingly close eye on her. Elaine and Andrew were somewhere taking pictures together with family members, and once they were able to enjoy a drink and some food, they would have their first dance.

It wasn't until she began dancing with Temperance and Penelope that she finally let go. She found herself swaying, jumping, and gracefully flailing with the sounds of the upbeat dance music being played. The dance floor was filled with the younger people, and soon Madeline was laughing and having a great time. Temperance really opened up on the dance floor, and Penelope was always spinning and laughing. Claire and Margaret joined them soon after, and Claire took Madeline's hand and pulled her close. Even Kendra left Peter to join their group of women dancing together. Sometimes during the shifting movements of everyone dancing and jumping around, Madeline could spot Oliver and Nicolas at their table, and she would wave or laugh. The third or fourth time this happened, Madeline watched as Seti and Amelia approached their table. Oliver pointed, and while Amelia began walking towards the women, Seti took a seat.

"Ladies!" shouted Amelia as she joined them. "I've missed you!"

She was greeted with shouts, squeals, and hugs, and then the dancing recommenced. They danced for quite some time until the person controlling the music played a slower track and announced that soon they would be introducing the hosts.

This was the ladies' cue to return to their seats, and Madeline rushed over to Oliver, who stood to embrace her. She threw her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his.

"I'm sweaty," she said, laughing.

"Won't be the last time," said Oliver quietly. "You're going to make me run this cake off tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Tomorrow is for sleeps," said Madeline with a nod. "Not runs."

"If you say so," he said.

Madeline decided to take a seat in Oliver's lap rather than any of the chairs, and she greeted Seti, who she was forcing herself to treat as an afterthought, with an excited wave.

"Seti! It's good to see you again!"

Seti smiled, nodded, and said something polite, but his eyes lingered on Madeline, which made her uncomfortable. She looked at Amelia for help.

"You and I have a conversation to resume, I believe," said Madeline. "I would like an update."

"If it pleases you, we can have that conversation. But to be brief, it went well," said Amelia.

" _It did_?!" Madeline shouted, slamming her hands on the table in surprise. Everyone at the table looked at her, but she didn't care. "That's _brilliant_!"

Amelia blushed and shook her head out of embarrassment.

"He couldn't make it tonight, but we can get lunch or something soon."

"Yes, _please_?!"

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy breeches are you two talking about?" asked Nicolas. "Suddenly Maddie's hammering the table, and no one's curious as to why?"

"Like many things, it's none of your concern," said Madeline, who stood and glared at Nicolas. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm being summoned for cake duty."

* * *

After cutting the cake, toasts, and sharing a beautiful slow dance with Oliver, Claire took Madeline and they slipped away onto the veranda. It was still a bit drizzly, but the air was cool and the wind felt nice after being in the hot ballroom.

Madeline told her about Nicolas' questions, Seti's ability to make her uncomfortable, and her own guilt for not being one-hundred percent truthful about that night. Nicolas had resurfaced that guilt. They both were eating pieces of both Elaine's cake (strawberries and cream) and Andrew's cake (French dark chocolate) while they talked.

"I'll handle Nick—don't you worry about him," said Claire with a dismissive wave of her fork. "As for Seti, I think hiding out here for a bit will be helpful."

"Agreed," said Madeline. "This chocolate one's the best."

" _Do_ you have feelings for him?"

"Well… he certainly makes me _feel_ things, but I wouldn't say that I daydream about running off with him or anything."

"And… nothing happened between you? Nothing physical?"

"No! Of course not. I'm—I refuse to be offended that you're asking because you're my best friend and I know you trust me. He's _not what I want_. I just want Oliver. Seti's been making me uncomfortable all night."

"I could tell. I guess Nick could too."

"And thanks Auror training, Nick thinks he's some detective now."

"Nick has always been observant. That's not news," said Claire. "It bothers me more that he felt the need to interfere on Oliver's behalf."

"Right? Exactly," said Madeline. "Like Oliver can't talk to me himself."

"Maddie, I'm changing the topic a bit, but I have to tell you something. I want to talk to you about this while we're alone."

"That's alright. What is it?" asked Madeline. The rain began beating harder onto the cover of the veranda, and the wind gushed bits of it up. Despite being blustery, the women enjoyed being outside.

"Well, Charlie asked me to move in with him, and I haven't given him an answer. I'm not sure what to say. I would wait until he's settled back in Romania, but he wants me to live _there with him_."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I dunno, honestly, but Charlie's worried because I haven't given him a proper answer. I'm really torn up about it. I don't know what to do. I like living in London, and I love walking to work."

"Did he say why he wanted you to move?"

"He said he thought I'd enjoy being in the peaceful mountains again, but it feels like he's just sick of visiting our apartment. He would never say that, though."

"No, he wouldn't."

"This is soon, isn't it? Too soon to be officially moving in together?"

"I think you should tell him that. Tell him it feels too soon. Maybe… maybe you could start staying with him rather than him staying with you, or stay with him in Romania for a weekend and see how you like it. You can take smaller steps than moving."

"You're right," said Claire, her eyebrows taut. "How did I not consider that?"

"It's been a stressful month, and you still aren't sure what you're going to do about work, so that's not helping. It's too much change happening at once. I don't know why he would ask _now_. He's going to be really busy the next few weeks _anyway_ , what with preparing the nesting mothers and all."

"They're pretty aggressive, too," said Claire. "Charlie's been burned twice in two weeks' time."

"I bet! I still can't believe Harry Potter is the fourth—and youngest!—Triwizard Champion!"

"It's absurd."

"It's _terrifying_ ," said Madeline. "I can't imagine how he feels. He's too young. Someone's obviously hoping he won't make it through the tournament."

"I think he'll be alright. Dumbledore and McGonagall have their eyes on him, not to mention Moody and a whole host of other Ministry officials wandering around preparing for the tournament. Potter will be alright if he can prepare for the tasks properly."

Though she spoke with great confidence, Madeline wasn't so sure. Her last three years at Hogwarts had proven to her that Dumbledore was fallible. Sirius Black, dementors, the Heir of Slytherin, the basilisk, and Professor Quirrell—Dumbledore wasn't necessarily losing his ability to maintain control over Hogwarts, but he certainly was beginning to grow outnumbered. It was comforting to many that the ex-Auror Alastor Moody would be at Hogwarts this year, but Madeline didn't like the idea of complacency when it came to people's lives. Initial tests for Auror training had already taught her constant vigilance.

"We'll go together to the first event. Charlie can get us in. Just the two of us."

"Perfect. I'll get to see Cedric and maybe Hermione while I'm at it. I'd love to know how she feels about all this."

"I wonder if we should head back inside. I don't want to miss Elaine before she leaves."

"She'll find us before she runs off," said Claire. "But I am getting cold. Yeah, let's head back in."

After the two women found their way back into the ballroom, they edged around the room until they saw Oliver and Charlie sitting alone together at their table. As they joined them, Madeline saw that Amelia and Seti were on the dance floor; she had been hoping that they were gone.

"Was it cooler outside?" asked Charlie as Claire sat in his lap. His scarred hands rubbed her cold arms.

"Yes, much," she replied, kissing his cheek.

Madeline watched as Claire and Charlie smiled at each other in the same way that she used to look at Richard. This time, though, she noticed a difference—unlike Richard, who always saw Claire as deserving of his admiration, Charlie gazed at Claire as though he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. She wasn't sure if Claire could tell the difference, but it seemed like something to Madeline.

"Will we stay until Elaine and Andrew leave?" asked Oliver as the music changed once again to a slower song.

"I think so," said Madeline. "Have you seen them?"

"They were dancing, last I saw," he replied.

"May we join them?"

"Sure," said Oliver.

They both stood, Claire and Charlie following, and made their way to the floor. Wrapped up into each other's arms, they began dancing, swaying gently back and forth. They danced happily together, laughing at the other's occasional awkward movements, until Elaine stopped them. In tears, she thanked Madeline for all her help.

"All will be well," said Madeline. "You both enjoy your honeymoon and send me some of those postcard things, alright?"

"Of course," said Elaine, who grinned up at Andrew.

Madeline watched as the bride and groom were seen off by their friends and families off into the windy, rainy evening. Everyone said their goodbyes, and soon Madeline and Oliver were snuggled together in his bed and drifting into a deep, food-coma sleep.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: The Task**

"We'll be at the task," said Madeline. "Charlie Weasley is sneaking us in so that we can cheer on Cedric and Harry. How—how are they, by the way?"

"I'm sure Charlie has informed you of the nature of the first task, then, if he is so close to you and Miss Denson. I must ask you to keep that information to yourself. The Champions—"

"I know—they can't get any outside help. Cedric told me."

"Good," said McGonagall, who took a deep breath. "I'm not worried about Mr. Diggory. His demeanor has not changed, and he will do well in the tournament."

"And… Harry?"

"He is simply too young," said McGonagall tersely.

"I'm frightened for him," said Madeline.


	12. The Task

**Chapter 12: The Task**

"I've been to hell and back so many times / I must admit you kinda bore me"

– Ray Lamontagne, "Empty"

* * *

Madeline, Nicolas, and Claire sat together in a small room fashioned to look like a classroom—complete with three desks, quills, ink, and parchment, and a half-empty, dusty bookshelf in the back corner—and waited for their "professor" to join them.

This was their first session since Elaine's wedding, and they were supposed to have remembered the names of all the current Aurors. As they sat patiently waiting, Claire and Nicolas read while Madeline wrote a letter to McGonagall confirming their next meeting, which would take place after the weekend before the first Triwizard Tournament task. She was surprised to discover, thanks to Charlie, that the event would be held on a Tuesday afternoon. She would miss a few hours of Healer training, but since she hadn't been taken sick leave or personal time yet, she felt that a few hours in the afternoon would be alright.

They were in a frustrating and confusing stage of the Auror training model—they were being officially trained, but they weren't in the official training program. Their meetings at night consisted primarily of history of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, current rules and standards of behavior, and what to expect further down the line.

"If this isn't the official training program, what is it?" Nicolas had tersely asked on the first evening.

"The second stage of your testing. Your acceptance into the official Auror training program is wholly probationary. You must successfully pass this stage to continue, as with all portions of the training," Proudfoot had replied. "No one has made it passed the probationary period since Nymphadora Tonks, and how that little nitwit did it, I have no idea."

Madeline knew from the beginning of their sessions with Proudfoot, the Auror responsible for them, that she would be lucky to pass his portion of the training; he seemed to especially detest young women, and he consistently degraded Claire and Margaret. Though Nicolas had initially resisted his disgusting banter, Claire had warned Nicolas not to risk his acceptance for them. They both had more suitable "female" careers already, as Proudfoot liked to remind them.

When Proudfoot entered on this night, the three trainees all sat up a little straighter, and he eyed them with humor.

"Tonight, I will test your knowledge of the current Aurors, and then you will meet a few of them. Dawlish and Shacklebolt will be joining us later. For now, I want the Librarian and Healer to stand and list the others in unison like the little choir girls you are."

* * *

There was something unnerving about Proudfoot's beliefs and opinions that Madeline hadn't really encountered at Hogwarts. There, she was just another student and her reproductive organs didn't matter to the staff. Yet, the more she thought about, she realised that there were loads of boys who didn't think girls should be playing Quidditch or participating in other male-dominated professions. When she asked Claire that night, she revealed that many of the Ravenclaws were very traditional and didn't like women excelling past men. Even at the library, she said, the men hold the real positions of power.

"And one even came on to me, a month in," said Claire.

"What?! What did you do?"

"I just laughed it off," she said. "It happens. I was polite about it, and he told me to keep up the good work."

Claire's flippancy about the topic frustrated and bothered Madeline, but she didn't bring it up again. Madeline was looking forward to speaking with McGonagall, as she was the one who had recommended this path for her in the first place. Rather than meeting at Hogsmeade, Madeline used the Floo to meet with McGonagall in her office at the appointed time on the Saturday before the first Triwizard Tournament task. She offered Madeline biscuits and asked about how Auror training was going.

"It's sort of… horrendous," said Madeline honestly. She told McGonagall all about the probationary training and Proudfoot's apparent disgust with women being Aurors.

"I remember Ernest Proudfoot," she said, shaking her head. "I had just replaced Dumbledore as the Transfiguration professor, and he was a most unpleasant student. Never as clever as he liked to think and couldn't properly transfigure anything. A Slytherin, not that it matters."

"Claire and I are thinking of withdrawing, but that's precisely what he wants, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'm sure it is," said McGonagall. She gazed at Madeline steadily. "What are you hoping to gain from Auror training, I wonder?"

"I think Claire and I are simply hoping to learn how to defend ourselves properly. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts training was, as you know, quite unsteady."

"Oh yes, I know," said McGonagall. "Madeline, if defense is your primary objective, I can arrange a month of lessons that will better prepare you for defense than the Aurors will give you in a year. While I believe it would be worthwhile to pursue Auror training, you both will have to grit your teeth and commit, and that means leaving behind your other professions for quite some time."

Madeline nodded and took a sip of her tea. Between her Transfiguration lessons and Healer training, Madeline wasn't sure why she thought more studying would be a good idea.

"Minerva, who would train us?" asked Madeline after some time.

"Take some time to discuss the offer with Claire," said McGonagall. "I must admit… that I feel I was mistaken in recommending you to the Auror's office. I think your talents, as well as Claire's, would be better served outside the unwieldy, unpredictable grasp of the Ministry."

"What of Nicolas?"

"Mr. Tennant will benefit from the discipline required to progress through that program, and I think his willfulness will be received well by the men in that department. You and Claire don't necessarily _need_ such training, and you do have opportunities elsewhere."

That was certainly true. Claire had already been promoted at the library twice, and Madeline had just received an offer to train at the wizarding hospital in New York (while Crispin was invited to Paris).

"Take a week to think about it, and I'm sure—"

"No, I think it's a good idea. I'll confirm with Claire, and she and I will let you know on Tuesday," said Madeline.

"Tuesday will be quite a busy day—"

"We'll be at the tournament," said Madeline. "Charlie Weasley is sneaking us in so that we can cheer on Cedric and Harry. How—how are they, by the way?"

"I'm sure Charlie has informed you of the nature of the first task, then, if he is so close to you and Miss Denson. I must ask you to keep that information to yourself. The Champions—"

"I know—they can't get any outside help. Cedric told me."

"Good," said McGonagall, who took a deep, unsteady breath. "I'm not worried about Mr. Diggory. His demeanor has not changed and his transfiguration abilities have improved. He will manage."

"And… Harry?"

"He is simply too young," said McGonagall tersely. She snapped a biscuit in half.

"I'm frightened for him," said Madeline.

"We are all prepared to intervene if things don't go well," she replied grimly. "I can only hope that he has learned enough. But for now, you have your own training to attend to. Were you able to successfully transfigure your legs into tentacles?"

"Yes, and I must tell you that Oliver was _very_ confused."

* * *

Madeline left St Andrews at lunch as planned and used the Floo to get to the flat in London. Claire was reading at the kitchen table and hopped up when she saw Madeline burst through the flames.

"How'd it go? They were alright with you leaving?"

"I'm not sure, but we won't think about it. Where's everyone?"

"It's midday, isn't it? Margaret's babysitting or whatever, Nicolas is God-knows-where, Oliver's training, and Charlie's been at Hogwarts all night. He stopped by for about twenty minutes after they stunned the dragons, but he had to go back to help prepare their breakfast."

Madeline grimaced while thinking about what could possibly consist of four mother dragons' breakfasts, and Claire laughed.

"You ready?"

"Got to find my boots," said Claire, who ran to her room. They were both dressed in black trousers and black wintry boots, as per Charlie's recommendation. Though he wasn't afraid of any repercussions for sneaking them in, he felt that they should blend in with the student population of Hogwarts as best as possible. So Madeline packed Claire's Ravenclaw robe and her own Hufflepuff robe, and they wore their respective House jumpers and scarves. They were excited to return to Hogwarts, and Madeline felt a thrill shoot through her when she thought about seeing the castle again.

Once Claire's boots were on, they apparated together to Hogsmeade, which was already facing frigid mountain gusts. Madeline and Claire immediately donned their robes and made their way toward the Forbidden Forest. After they found the edge of the forest, they began following the line of trees, as Charlie had also instructed. They were supposed to walk until they couldn't see the castle or the lake.

"You're sure we'll be able to find McGonagall?"

"If we don't, I'll owl her," said Madeline.

"I wonder who she has in mind?" asked Claire. "Who would be qualified to help us? Professor Flitwick won't have nearly enough time."

"Maybe it'll be someone we don't know," said Madeline. "That could be exciting."

"I suppose so. Shouldn't we be close? It's been forever."

"I can still see the castle—let's keep going."

They heard the students before they could see them, and a few moments later, Madeline and Claire were amidst all the Hogwarts students walking towards the hidden enclosure where the first task was to take place. With everyone being so excited and distracted, Madeline and Claire had no issues following the crowd and arriving at the stands. The shrieks of dragons erupted over the crowd, silencing everyone for a moment, and then the buzzing of hundreds of excited students broke out over the forest.

Finding a seat in the stands wasn't an issue either, but Claire and Madeline felt better sitting away from the judges' area. This placed them near a throng of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, an area that was simultaneously interesting and annoying, for the Beauxbatons women were already cheering for their competitor, whoever it was. This ignited a wave of cheers from many of the other students, and the Hogwarts students seemed divided—all but the Gryffindors were cheering for Cedric.

Dumbledore spoke to the crowd and announced his fellow judges, and then he explained what the contestants were expected to do, which left the crowd nearly silent with surprise and horror. Neither Claire nor Madeline were surprised, as they had been privy to Charlie's best guesses. As the silence was broken by a buzzing of whispers and the brushing of the trees by the wind, Charlie and his fellow dragon keepers brought out the first dragon—a large bluish-grey dragon with a shorter snout than proportionally expected.

"That's the Swedish Short-Snout!" said Claire quickly.

A few moments later, after a whistle blew, Ludo Bagman came running into the judges' stand. The cheerful ex-professional Quidditch player was apparently the announcer as well as a judge.

And then, there was Cedric, standing at the entrance of the stadium, facing opposite the Swedish Short-Snout, and looking pale-faced and determined. The Hogwarts crowd, including Madeline and Claire, cheered loudly. Cedric lifted one hand towards his fellow Hufflepuffs, recognizable as a large section of yellow and black scarves, jumpers, and banners. They nearly lost their heads cheering.

Cedric's wand was just barely visible in his right hand, and Madeline waited impatiently to see how he would handle his challenge. The noise of the onlookers did not distract the dragon's large reptilian eyes—Cedric was the only threat she saw. Unfortunately for him, he was wearing a bright yellow jersey with the Hufflepuff/Hogwarts "H" embroidered into it—he was representing both his House and his school, and the colors were easy to see in the field of dull grey and brownish-black rocks.

"Do dragons see in color?" asked Madeline, looking at Claire. She nodded.

"They have reptilian vision," she said, raising her eyebrows. "But it's odd—they didn't develop the same peripheral vision as other reptiles. They can't see sideways very well. I think it's because they've been predators for so long. But color, yes. Cedric will appear like a lemon in ashes."

Cedric stood idle, which Madeline thought seemed to be a good strategy, and he moved slowly towards the side of the stadium as if he was trying not to startle her. The next moment, though, and the dragon lifted herself up on her legs to get a better look at Cedric, her exhale dark with smoke. Her wings were back, and she looked absolutely poised to pounce.

Madeline whimpered a moment, and Claire leaned in close.

"He's going to be alright," she said.

Madeline nodded, her eyes rapt on the scene before her. The audience was silent, waiting. As everyone watched, Cedric seemed to realise that he couldn't hide from the dragon all day. His face screwed up in concentration, and he pointed his wand at a large, nearby rock. Moments later, the rock sprouted furry blond legs, and then was covered in blond fur, and finally sprouted a head and tail—he had transfigured the rock into a beautiful Labrador. The crowd, who had watched with baited breath, cheered when they saw that he was successful. Madeline saw Cedric's bashful grin momentarily curve his lips, but in the next moment, the dragon roared—she was probably unsettled by the sudden appearance of another foe as well as the harsh upwelling of cheers.

"That was impressive," cried Claire over the cheering Hogwarts students. "I'm not sure I could have done that under such pressure!"

"I just hope it's enough," said Madeline, more to herself than to Claire.

Luckily, as though Cedric had trained or cursed it to do so, the dog ran towards the dragon and began barking like mad. The dragon reared up, almost like she was crouched to pounce, and while she was thus distracted, Cedric bolted for the dragon's nest. With her large bluish-grey tail, she turned and took a swipe at the dog, and nearly hit Cedric in the process. The entire crowd gasped, horrified—he dropped into the rocks just in time, but she saw him—it was too late—she screeched, Cedric ran, bolting towards the nest sitting atop a small, rocky outcrop. The dragon reared back, her throat growing red and orange, and let loose a gush of fire. Cedric jumped for the outcrop, landed harshly on the ground, and scrambled up. Once his arms were around the golden egg, he took off running, but the dragon wasn't done yet—she shot an angry stream of fire at Cedric, and everyone watched in horror as his shirt caught fire. Smoke filled part of the stadium, and Ludo Bagman's voice rung over the stadium.

"Where is the lad?! Diggory completes the task! But where is he?" Bagman called.

Madeline and Claire held each other tightly—would he survive?

A moment later, and Charlie's team ran out to stun the dragon and transition to the next. One of other dragon keepers found Cedric lying behind some rocks. He was badly burned and walked as though lightheaded, but the egg was safely held in his arm.

"Cedric! He needs burn paste immediately—I wonder if—"

"They'll take care of 'im, Maddie. He's walking—he's alive—he's done. He won't ever have to do that again."

"I'm beginning to regret coming to this," said Madeline, her hand over her mouth in horror.

"I wonder how the others will get on," said Claire. "I've been thinking, and I dunno how I would do it. Cedric's idea seemed to work for a bit. Maybe if there had been more dogs?"

"Maybe."

The next dragon was being brought into the stadium, and it was smaller than the Swedish Short-Snout.

" _Ooo_ , that's the Welsh Green," said Claire. "Charlie told me that this one was the softie—the one he would hope to face."

"I wonder who'll fight her. D'you think they drew by lot? I hope it's—"

"Harry," they said simultaneously. Claire laughed. "I know. Me too."

This wishful thinking was proved futile moments later, when Bagman announced that the young lady from Beauxbatons would be next. At the sound of a whistle, she appeared. She was nearly as tall as Cedric, slender, and beautiful—at least from what they could tell. Although she looked nervous—pale, frowning, eyes wide—yet she held her head high and stood at the entrance as though she knew precisely what she would do. Then she spent a few minutes carefully studying the ground in front of her. The Beauxbatons women—and a few others, by the sound of it—cheered and chanting in French.

"I thought the competitors weren't supposed to know?" asked Madeline. "She looks completely unsurprised. Actually, now that I think of it, Cedric did too."

"Well, they were told right before, so they knew their objective was to get the egg," said Claire, shrugging. "Also, how easy is it to keep four dragons a secret, really?"

"Fair point," said Madeline. "I wonder what she'll do."

The young lady from Beauxbatons—Fleur Delacour—immediately strode forward, lifted her wand high, and began muttering an incantation, her eyes locked on the dragon's. The Welsh Green, which lied protectively in front of her nest, lifted its head a bit to look at her.

It was interesting—Madeline had never seen anyone charm a dragon—and she hoped that it would work. Madeline felt that she should cheer for the only female competitor, even if she was trying to defeat both Cedric and Harry.

As Delacour drifted the incantation over the dragon, she grew drowsy, and lowered her head to the ground. Maintaining concentration and eye-contact, Delacour slowly but gracefully felt her way across the stadium. She had studied and chosen the path of least obstruction prior to beginning her charm—Maddie understood that now—and watched as she basically danced across the stadium, wand high, eyes nearly unblinking.

Once she was closer to the dragon, though, she had to start breaking eye-contact to find her way, and Madeline grew nervous.

"The incantation won't hold if she doesn't maintain eye contact," said Claire, shaking her head. "But I dunno how else she'll get to the egg. She must be hoping the dragon will fall asleep. Charlie thought one of them might try this—he said it takes at least three people charming them for it to work properly, they're so huge."

This made Madeline more nervous for the young French woman, and the closer she got, the quieter the stadium became. Then, as the dragon seemed to drift into a light sleep, Delacour ran towards the nest—but just as she did, the dragon let out a huge snore, and a huge swath of fire flew out of its nostrils. Delacour jumped in an attempt to dodge the flames, but it caught the edge of her skirt—she panicked for a moment, put the flames out with some conjured water, and once she snatched up the correct egg, the crowd cheered wildly. Delacour didn't feel the need to celebrate, though, and she bolted back to the safer end of the stadium just as the Welsh Green began blinking back into full dragon consciousness.

"She managed it," cried Madeline. "Amazing!"

The Chinese Fireball was brought out next by the dragon keepers, and Madeline and Claire exchanged another terrified look. Although this one was about the same size as the Welsh Green, she seemed far more anxious about being surrounded by so many people. The poor thing looked around wildly, circling her nest outcropping, and moved as though extremely ill at ease.

Bagman introduced Viktor Krum next, the Durmstrang champion, and there were more cheers than for the Beauxbatons champion.

"Wait—does that mean that Harry has to…"

"Face the Hungarian Horntail?" asked Claire, whose face was crumpled with pain. "Yes. Not only the biggest and most aggressive, but also the most dangerous."

"Of course," said Madeline, who threw her hands in the air. "Of course he gets the worst."

"The boy's definitely cursed."

"I wonder how Krum will handle his dragon."

They didn't have to wait long—Krum strode out to almost deafening cheers, ran towards the Chinese Fireball, raised his wand, and hexed her right in her left eye. The dragon immediately screamed and reared back in pain.

Although Bagman was trying to commentate on Krum's performance, he could barely be heard over the dragon's wails, the roaring of fire, and the thrashing of limbs and tail against rock. The dragon was in pain, was terrified, and was destroying everything, including her own eggs—once again, Madeline and Claire were holding each other tight. In a tumultuous flurry of rock and flame, Krum somehow emerged unscathed and victorious from the chaos with the golden egg tucked under his arm. The crowd cheered and clapped once again, and the judges gave their scores, and Charlie and the other dragon keepers came out to begin cleaning up the mess. Despite the chaos, Krum had somehow managed to get the highest marks. Cedric was in last place, Delacour in second.

The Hungarian Horntail was brought in stunned, and when they enervated her, she immediately shot out flames and swung her tail around in anger—Charlie got hit by both tail and flame, and Claire nearly dove off her seat to see what happened.

"He's alright—he's alright—he's up and running. They'll get him fixed," said Madeline. "He's alright."

At the whistle, Harry walked into the enclosure slowly, as though lost, to a great deal of cheering—perhaps more than anyone was expecting. After seeing the other three older competitors, Madeline supposed the crowd felt Harry brave for even showing up at all. The Horntail stared at him as though he was a small, unfriendly pest, and her massive spiked tail flicked as though she were an annoyed cat.

Then, as though concentrating with all his might, he raised his wand and shouted something, but no one heard him over the cheering and Bagman's announcements.

"What's that? I didn't hear what he said!" cried Bagman.

And then he just stood there, staring at the dragon and the air around him, as though he was waiting for something.

"What's he waiting for, you reckon?"

"I dunno," said Madeline.

Moments later, and the crowd heard the whistling of something flying towards the enclosure, then they saw what he'd been waiting for— _his Firebolt_.

"He's summoned his broom, and it's a _Firebolt_!" cried Bagman over the crowd. "Oh my, look at that beautiful broom!"

They watched as Harry climbed onto his broom and soared high, high into the air until he was only a wee pinprick against the clouds. He stayed up there for a few minutes, perhaps gathering his courage, perhaps working out a plan. When he dove down, he began teasing the Horntail, trying to lure her away from her nest—but she shot out flames and Harry swirled up to reconsider his plan. As he consistently dove and swirled above her, she tried to follow him, but grew dizzy and annoyed.

"What a brilliant idea," mumbled Claire. "I'd have never thought of that."

"I'm surprised Krum didn't," said Madeline. "Honestly… an international Quidditch player being put to shame by Harry Potter. Oliver'd be so proud."

During one of his dives, he barely missed flames and the dragon's spiked tail scraped his back—everyone gasped and cried out—but he was still flying, and he seemed not to be phased by the scrape. After a few more minutes of annoying the dragon, Harry got her to lift up away from her nest, and he swooped down as though flying towards a Snitch and lifted the egg safely into his arms.

"Look at that! Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg!" cried Bagman. "Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!"

Harry disappeared from the enclosure for a few moments, and when he returned, they gave him his score—he was tied for first with Krum.

"Oh, what rubbish. Krum should be last," snapped Claire. "Charlie's going to be furious about those _very real_ dragon eggs he destroyed in his recklessness."

"I guess he was the only one to not get touched by flame or tail," said Madeline with a frown. "But Cedric and the Frenchwoman definitely performed the most impressive magic."

"So it is," said Claire with a defeated shrug. "Let's go say goodbye to Cedric and get back to the flat."

It took some time, but Claire and Madeline patiently waited outside of the tent for Cedric to exit. Harry ran out first and walked away with Ron Weasley, who had been lingering for about the same time as them. Claire seemed to consider saying something to Ron, but decided against it. Viktor Krum and the young woman named Fleur Delacour exited next, both headed toward the castle. Cedric came next, and they stopped him before he could get too far. He turned to greet them, his face, neck, and part of his chest covered in an orange paste that Madeline knew to be a burn salve. He had a large golden egg in his left arm.

"Oh, Cedric!" cried Madeline, who ran to hug him. He grinned and held her with his right arm. "I'm so proud of you!"

"You saw my abysmal performance?"

"Abysmal?" asked Claire calmly. "You did exactly what Madeline and I said we would have done in your shoes. Krum's approach was totally reckless, and he shouldn't be tied for first."

Cedric was still holding onto Madeline when his grey eyes looked down to hers.

"It was terrifying," he said. "I'm glad it's over."

"Well, you've got the second clue, and you've—"

Madeline heard them first—a group of girls squealing—and saw them moments later. They were running up to the tent, wearing _Support Cedric Diggory—the Real Hogwarts Champion!_ badges, and Madeline was the first to act. She broke away from Cedric, waved her wand high, and cast a broad but thin confusion charm like a mist over the group of girls. They stopped, stared listlessly, and began drifting away, bumping into one another as they wandered off.

"You've _got_ to teach me that," said Cedric with a grin. " _That_ happens daily."

"You've got a fan club," said Madeline seriously. "I told you that you're too handsome for your own good. You don't listen to me."

"They follow me everywhere—they even try to sneak into the Prefect's toilet!"

Claire laughed without reserve, and Charlie must have followed the sound, for he appeared a moment later, his right trouser leg torn at the knee and the purple deep-cut salve covering his right calf. He didn't seem badly burned anywhere. Madeline almost offered to seal the wound, but he seemed to be in a hurry, so she remained quiet. He ran up to Claire and kissed her hard.

"I've got to see them off and send my mum an owl," he said. Claire nodded, her eyes alight and lips curved into a smile.

"I'm glad you're alright," she replied, touching his face.

They kissed again and he was gone. Madeline turned to Cedric.

"You're probably starving. Let's head back to the castle," said Madeline. Cedric looked at her funny, so she explained. "McGonagall's letting us use her fireplace to return home."

Cedric made a soft _ah_ sound and began walking back to the castle.

"So the clue for the second task is… in there?" asked Claire when she caught up with them.

"Apparently," said Cedric.

"Well, if you need any help deciphering the clue, let me know," said Madeline. "I might have some good, _general_ advice about _school_ to share with you."

"I'm technically not supposed to have help," said Cedric seriously, missing her hints.

"As if the others aren't getting help? Listen, nerve and courage might have been enough for this task, but the next two _will be_ trickier."

Cedric nodded grimly.

"I'm not so worried about Harry anymore—it looks as though he's gotten help as well," said Madeline.

"I can't believe neither Krum nor I thought about flying," said Cedric with a frown.

"Well, he doesn't have as much of a magical education to draw from," said Claire. "I wasn't surprised, honestly. Flying and getting into trouble are the two things Potter's really good at."

Madeline and Cedric nodded their agreement, and as the castle came into clearer view, Claire stopped and stared in awe. Madeline and Cedric joined her.

" _Oh_ , I've missed this old castle," said Claire.

Madeline admired it as well, and a flood of memories washed over her mind, and she quite forgot herself until a blast of cold wind reminded them all of where they were.

"Let's get inside," said Cedric. He took off at a jog and they followed.

Once inside the great double doors, Madeline and Claire felt their bodies defrosting and enjoyed reacquainting their eyes to the Entrance Hall. Cedric hugged Madeline and then waved his goodbye as he entered the Great Hall to eat.

"Parting's becoming easier, I see," said Claire with a small laugh. "I wonder if McGonagall is in the hall."

They walked over to the doors of the Great Hall and peered inside—it was just as they remembered, except for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang competitors sitting with the Hogwarts students like sapphires and garnets amidst coals. They almost walked in out of sheer habit, but a call from the Entrance Hall stopped them.

"Claire Denson? Hi, Claire! How are you?"

It was a sixth year—now seventh year—Ravenclaw whose name Madeline couldn't recall. He was a burly fellow who was a Beater on the Ravenclaw team, and Madeline distinctly remembered flying to his left side and nearly taking a Bludger to the head.

"Hi, Davis, how're you?" asked Claire, smiling sweetly.

"I'm great—what're you doing here? It's great to see you—you look fantastic—I almost didn't recognize you."

"Thanks," said Claire. "I'm sure you're hungry—we won't stop you—we're just now leaving."

"Did you come for the tournament? Are you staying? Could I meet you at Hogsmeade sometime—I'd love to buy you a drink!"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not staying for long. It was good to see you, Davis."

At this, Davis nodded, tossed a pert glance and nod at Madeline, and then continued into the Great Hall.

"Well done," said Madeline. "I wouldn't have known how to handle that."

"You would've handled it well, I'm sure," said Claire, whose eyes were narrowed in thought. "That was awfully strange. Davis rarely ever spoke to me—we might have had three or four conversations in the six years we were at school together."

"I suppose word went 'round of your breakup with Richard, and no one really knows that you're seeing Charlie."

"The twins know," said Claire.

"The twins—who would they tell? They don't care a jot."

"Fair point."

The next moment, as Madeline peered into the Great Hall again, she saw McGonagall walking down the centre aisle towards them.

"Ah, Miss Denson—Miss Palmer. I took you for students," said McGonagall as she arrived. "We can head to my office if you're ready."

They were, so they followed McGonagall to her office not far from the Gryffindor Tower.

"This is a longer haul than I remember," said Madeline. "Yet I used to make it almost every day!"

"Indeed," said McGonagall with a small smile. "Repetition often creates ease."

"As does the excitement of seeing friends," said Claire. "You used to hike from the cellars to the Ravenclaw Tower quite often too, you know."

"I did!" said Madeline with a laugh. "I ran all over this massive castle."

"I still never learned how to enter the Hufflepuff Common Room," said Claire, her tone and expression matching in their disappointment. "I feel like this place has so many secrets that I never discovered."

Madeline had discovered her fair share, but she knew what Claire meant—it was almost as though they could have spent another seven years running around Hogwarts looking for secret passages and meeting up with friends.

"Madeline, have you thought about my offer? If so, I can arrange for a meeting at your convenience."

"I have. Claire and I are both in agreement—but we would like to know for sure before committing to quitting Auror training."

"Oh, I quite agree. I will make the arrangements. I think the Three Broomsticks will be a suitable meeting place."

"Who will it be?" asked Claire.

"Oh, I'll let it be a surprise," said McGonagall.

They soon reached her office, agreed what times would work best for their training, and bid McGonagall farewell. They used her Floo and returned to the flat in London.

* * *

That night, while Claire cooked dinner, Nicolas apparated into the middle of the apartment.

"How'd the task go?" Nicolas asked, taking a seat near Oliver.

"It was… absurdly terrifying," said Madeline.

"Agreed," said Claire.

"D'you need any help?" asked Nicolas. Without waiting for her response, he stood and joined her in the kitchen. His black, straight hair had grown to an awkward, unmanageable length, and Madeline smiled to herself about it. She would say something to him about trimming the fringe soon if Claire and/or Margaret did not.

"Erm, sure," she muttered, gazing around the kitchen as if she'd lost something. "Where did I put that sauce…."

Nicolas conjured a crimson-and-gold apron, tied it around his waist, and took over stirring vegetables and chicken in the sauce pan while Claire searched the counters for whatever she'd misplaced. Madeline felt her heart grow full—seeing Nicolas do domestic things had been making her emotional ever since Margaret first revealed her wish to have a child with him. Conscious that Oliver was watching her, Madeline turned to him and allowed her tender, soft gaze to melt his heart.

"I'm beginning to think that my Auror training will end soon anyway," said Madeline, turning back to Claire. They had been discussing McGonagall's proposal again, which Oliver and Nicolas both knew about and favored. "I think Proudfoot is intentionally going to fail me."

"You and me both—aha!" said Claire, who lifted a container of sauce in triumph.

"I can't stand the arse," said Nicolas firmly. "He reminds me of Roger Davies... except smarter."

Claire poured about half the jar into the concoction and instructed him to continue stirring every few moments while she fixed the noodles.

"Did anyone recognize you while you were there?" asked Nicolas. "Did Diggory try to sweep Maddie off her feet?"

"I think Diggory and Maddie are past that, _really_ ," said Claire in semi-exasperation. Once the noodles were in the water, she turned back to her friends. "The Weasley twins waved at us, but I can't think of anyone else."

"And that Ravenclaw boy who asked to buy you drinks in Hogsmeade," said Madeline with a grin.

At this, Nicolas and Oliver laughed heartily.

"Still breaking hearts all over Hogwarts, are you?" asked Nicolas. "Poor bloke."

Oliver and Madeline exchanged a glance, but before Madeline could join the conversation, Oliver lifted her up and carried her over to the sofa. They snuggled up together and engaged in a long kiss.

"I don't believe it!—Are they snogging?"

Oliver broke the kiss to chuckle. When he resumed by kissing Madeline's neck, she momentarily forgot where she was, and she moaned from the back of her throat.

"Merlin's beard!" cried Nicolas. "I told you I'd see them going at it one day! Take the spoon—take the _spoon_!"

"They're teasing you," said Claire with a laugh, but Nicolas ran over anyway and sat on the sofa opposite them, watching intently.

"You're the most perverted person I've ever met," said Madeline, who sat up.

"You're going to have to consummate your relationship eventually," said Nicolas smugly. "And I _will_ be there to tease you about it."

"How d'you know we haven't already?" asked Oliver, who pulled Madeline closer to him. Parts of her still felt aflame, and she did her best to channel that energy into looking embarrassed, guilty, and in love—she wanted Nicolas to think he'd missed it.

"Bollocks!" said Claire from the kitchen. "Maddie would've told me."

Saying nothing, Madeline gazed at Oliver with all the tenderness she could muster.

"I dunno, Claire," said Nicolas, "either they're putting on a good show or…."

"It's a show," she said from the kitchen. She didn't look up. "Don't fall for it."

Oliver shrugged and they sat up, but Madeline crossed her legs over his and nestled into the spot where his neck met his chest and shoulder; the spot she had come to think had been crafted just for her, as her head fit there perfectly.

"Why is it you're so intent on knowing when we… you know?" Madeline asked.

"Because it… enhances and complicates things," said Nicolas with a shrug. "And I want to be your children's godfather and tell them awfully embarrassing stories about their parents."

"Food's nearly ready," said Claire a few minutes later. She joined them at the sofas. "And don't mind him. The complications aren't anything you two can't handle."

Madeline laughed; she couldn't help it. It burst out of her chest and sounded louder than normal in the large, open room.

"I'm sorry—you both just sound so serious—I couldn't help it."

Claire and Nicolas exchanged a glance, but Madeline turned to look at Oliver and missed it. No one else was laughing.

" _C'mon_ ," cried Madeline. "Since when am _I_ the one to find humor in a situation? You're all acting like a bunch of ninnies."

Madeline stood and went back into the kitchen.

"Maddie, sex _does_ change things. Physically, psychologically, emotionally—"

"I don't want to talk about it," said Maddie, who had grown angry at herself for laughing.

"Maddie, it's alright," said Oliver, who pulled her into his arms. He and Nicolas had joined them in the kitchen.

" _No_ —this is why my sense of humor is so skewered—when I laugh to relieve the tension, I'm told the situation is more serious than I understand. But when I think something is serious one of you lot always laughs it off like I'm barking! D'you know how frustrating that is? I feel like I can't do anything right."

"Maddie, we didn't—" said Claire, who seemed to have shrunk a little against Madeline's anger.

"It's whatever," said Madeline. She left the kitchen and walked into Oliver's bedroom. She lied on his bed for some time, expecting someone to come after her at any moment. But no one followed, not even Oliver. After ten minutes or so, Madeline grew drowsy and dozed on the bed. When she heard the door open, she jumped awake, unsure of how long she had been asleep.

"I'm sorry," said Claire as she entered. "As are Nick and Oliver."

"I know," she said. "I know you all care about me and hate to see me upset and blah blah blah."

"Well, that 'blah blah blah' is why I'm here, rather than Oliver. He thinks there's something you're not telling him, something that's upsetting you."

"What?" cried Madeline, who sat up with more alertness than before. "He knows everything. As do you."

"Except whatever it is that you've been doing for Margaret," said Claire, who sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't want to bring this up, but Nick has convinced Oliver that there's more to it than you two are letting on."

"Nick's every right to be confused about that, but he knows it's not my secret to tell, and I won't blab just because he thinks he can get you to worm it out of me," said Madeline. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies," said Claire. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything else. Anything you haven't told me or Oliver."

Madeline took a few minutes to think of things that were bothering or worrying her. Claire knew of all of them—Margaret didn't seem to be concerned about motherhood any longer, so Madeline had stopped thinking about it.

"I'm worried about a great many things, but you and Oliver know about all of them. Cedric and Harry, our own abilities to defend ourselves, what's happening with the Death Eaters, the fact that Sirius Black is _still out there somewhere_ , and my own abilities to maintain all this Healing knowledge as well as working on becoming an Animagus… I mean, it's a lot. I'm not fond of the idea of adding 'complications from sexual intercourse' to that already extensive list."

At this, Claire laughed, and Madeline shook her head. There it was again. Someone—her closest friend—laughing at her concerns. Madeline flopped back down on the bed.

"No—Maddie—I'm sorry—I'm laughing because you're _right_ —you've got too many things to worry about to be concerned about how you and Oliver will make love."

"Yes! Thank you," said Madeline.

"However," said Claire, with a crooked grin, "I would like to talk it through nonetheless. I think we need to have _the talk_."

" _Again_? Can I eat first?"

Claire laughed and nodded.

"Typical, but yes."

* * *

A few days later, Claire and Madeline got a letter from McGonagall instructing them to be in the Three Broomsticks the next Sunday morning to meet their new mentor, and they both wrote owls resigning from the Auror training program that night. Nicolas sulked in his room and wouldn't join them for dinner. Oliver still wasn't home, and Madeline tried not to worry.

After dinner, Claire sat next to Charlie on the well-cushioned chaise and leaned into his chest. He was reading a book about South American dragons that Claire had found for him in the library, and it made her smile to see him reading it. He looked up.

"Never thought I'd fall for a Ravenclaw librarian," he said, grinning. Claire laughed.

"I never thought I'd be so stereotypical in my profession," she replied.

Madeline joined them in sitting room area but stood idle and looked at the book in her hand.

"I suppose I'll go bathe," she said quietly.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," said Claire. "It's not like Oliver to be gone all day. He often comes home in the afternoons to eat half the kitchen while no one's here."

This tickled Charlie; he closed his book and laughed heartily til he was pink in the face.

"How d'you know it was him?" he asked through his laughter.

"I caught him one day! He'd eaten half a box of scones and was working through the remaining half of a steak and kidney pie I'd just made the night before."

"I have so much respect for that man," said Charlie with another deep chuckle. "Living the bloody dream."

Madeline listened, but not really, as they continued talking. She sat for a few minutes.

"D'you think Nick's really miffed?"

" _No_ ," said Claire. "I think he's just upset to be going it alone."

"Both of them are alright, Maddie," said Charlie. "Are _you_?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Madeline.

Before Charlie could answer, Claire slapped him gently with the back of her hand. He swallowed any of the words he had in mind to use.

"Go shower," said Claire. "You'll feel better, and I'm sure he'll be back when you're done."

Madeline stood but didn't move away. She glanced at Nicolas' door and the fireplace, and then she sighed.

"You were hoping to have one of your dual-showers, weren't you?" asked Claire.

Madeline blushed, her free hand to her cheek.

"How is it that you can shower together but not, y'know, do anything else?" asked Charlie, who turned to Claire. " _How_ does he manage that? I don't know any bloke with that sort of self-control."

"I suppose he's so tired that—"

"No, fatigue is no excuse. The amount of self-control and restraint it must take—"

And mid-way through Charlie's speech about Oliver's propensity for self-control, Oliver appeared looking truly and thoroughly exhausted. Rather than running to him as she wished to do, Madeline skittered into the kitchen, her fears abated.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, sitting at the table with a heavy thump.

Madeline warmed up the last large piece of turkey pie and brought it to him with a glass of water. He drained the glass and then ate the pie silently. Madeline touched his broad shoulder and bid goodnight to Claire and Charlie as they retreated to the privacy of her room.

"Where's Nick?"

"In his room. Claire and I have resigned from the Auror program," said Madeline. She sat next to him.

Oliver's face shot up, his eye alight, relieved.

"You're serious?"

"Yes. We sent off the letters. We're meeting with McGonagall's mystery mentor on Sunday," she said. "I'm quite excited. Having one job is enough."

"No, really?"

"How was training?"

Oliver finished eating and then answered.

"Brutal. They're going to start keeping us later."

"I'm sorry."

"How was _your_ training?"

"It's getting easier. I'll be switching to the hospital in New York in January, so Cris and I won't be working together too much longer. It's a bit sad, really. We've finally worked out how to be a team, and now we're to part."

Without saying much else, they retreated to Oliver's room and showered. Oliver was beginning to grow out a reddish-brown beard, and Madeline wasn't quite used to the feeling of him kissing her. As they lied in bed, he rubbed his whiskered face against hers.

"Oh—that's so strange, stop," cried Madeline, who laughed but tried to escape his burly arms. Rather than letting her pull away, he held her close and pressed a kiss to what he now thought of as Maddie's "melting point" on her neck near her ear. As predicted, she grew malleable in his arms.

"Even Charlie…" she whispered, shaking her head. He had no idea what she was thinking, but it didn't match his trail of thoughts. She kissed his hand.

"What's on your mind?"

"It's nothing. Let's get you to sleep, yeah?"

She pulled away to reach for her wand on the bedside table, and she put the light out nonverbally.

"Maddie," said Oliver as she pulled close to him. "C'mon."

"Well… even Charlie talks about it. Like sex is all that matters. He said he didn't understand how we could shower and... I dunno, Oliver. It bothers me. Like either we're missing something or they are, and I don't know which."

"Maybe iz both," he said through a yawn.

"Mmm."

Though it was dark, Oliver knew precisely where her face was, and he stroked her jaw with his hand.

"Don't let them shake you. They won't ever know a relationship like ours," he said. "That... sounds worse than I meant."

"But… what _are_ we waiting for?"

Oliver was silent for some time, and he nearly fell asleep trying to puzzle out what he should say.

"Oliver?"

"Mmm? Sorry, I'm barely awake."

Oliver felt her arms move, her weight shift, and then the pressure of her lips on his. She meant it as a goodnight kiss, he knew, but his chest fluttered and blood surged anyway.

"I love you."

"And I you."

* * *

 **Chapter 13: The Dynamic Duo**

"I'm sorry," said Madeline. Her eyes grew wet but she kept the tears in check.

Oliver stood, picked up his shirt, buttoned it, and tucked it in without saying a word. Madeline felt a chill run through her, like she'd been submerged in ice water. He wouldn't look at her.

"Oliver?"


	13. The Dynamic Duo

**Chapter 13: The Dynamic Duo**

"He'd half meant to speak but those eyes had altered the world forever in the space of heartbeat."

\- Cormac McCarthy, _All the Pretty Horses_

* * *

 _It was nearing the end of Madeline's first year at Hogwarts, and she was thrilled about her latest Transfiguration homework assignment, so she took off running to the library to get started. She was going to learn how to transfigure a teacup into a guinea pig!_

 _Although Madeline hadn't given any thought to it, she had left the Gryffindors and her Hufflepuff Housemates behind. Oliver and Elaine hadn't seemed as thrilled to get started, so they turned towards the Great Hall instead. Madeline wasn't sure where Claire would be, but that didn't matter too much. She'd go to dinner after she found the correct scroll she needed. It would only take Madam Pince a few moments to help her find it._

 _Her hazel eyes glowed bright as she ran along the hallway, oblivious to the older students leaving their final classes of the day. Halfway there, she had to slow to a walk because there were so many older students, and, she noticed, a bunch of Gryffindors and Slytherins. They were shouting, and it only took Madeline a moment to discern the topic of interest. Quidditch. Of course._

 _The final match of the year, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, would take place that Saturday. Madeline looked around for any professors, prefects, or even the Head Girl or Boy—but there was no one of authority around. Madeline didn't have time for this, so she began using her small frame to slip through the growing queue so that she could get to the library faster—she too was ready for another meal in the Great Hall. She hadn't decided who she would sit with this evening, but she was good at deciding on the spot. Maybe she'd sit with Elaine and Murray this evening._

 _Madeline was thinking longingly of custard tart as she made her way through the crowd, and when she broke through to a clearing, she thought she had made it—but she was wrong. There was a group of Gryffindor boys standing opposite a group of Slytherin boys, wands drawn and faces taut with anger. Madeline took a quick, discerning glance around and decided to make a bolt for it—there was no one to stop her, and the boys seemed to be at a standstill—so she ran._

 _Nymphadora Tonks, age 14, her hair short and a lively violet, was standing on the opposite end of the clearing and had watched the whole event unfold as though in slow motion. One of her Housemates, a wee first year, had just wanted to cross—probably to make her way to the library. Tonks watched in horror as the girl bolted through the clearing just as the boys tried to curse each other, resulting in the girl being hit with literally every curse, at least ten of them._

 _Tonks screamed aloud, and she wasn't the only to do so. Wand aloft, Tonks stunned as many of the boys as possible before she rushed to the clearing to tend to the girl who was unconscious and visibly convulsing—there was no telling what all she'd been hit with. There were welts growing on her arms, large patches of black fur growing on her legs, and her face was swelling with what seemed to be stinging charms. There were people shouting from every direction, and the noise was confusing and annoying._

" _We need to get her out of here," said a gruff, teenage-boy voice to Tonks while she was assessing the damage to the girl she had recognized as Madeline Palmer before she was hit. Palmer was the Hufflepuff first-year whose friends were primarily Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The older Hufflepuffs talked about her as the one who was always sitting at a different House table, similarly to how the whole school talked about her, the girl who could look like anyone._ Take the lot, indeed, _Tonks thought ruefully._

 _Tonks glanced sideways to see Charlie Weasley kneeling next to her. When she looked up, she saw that much of the crowd had dissipated in fear, but the boys responsible were still stunned. She would ensure that they would receive some form of punishment, even if she wasn't a Prefect or whatever. She didn't care—her housemate had been seriously injured (nothing Pomfrey couldn't fix with ease, but still, the pain must have been excruciating), and these boys would suffer for it._

" _I want to wait for—ah, there she is," said Tonks, who glanced up to see McGonagall walking swiftly towards them. Weasley stood to face his Head of House._

" _Professor, I just got here," he said, "but I think Tonks can explain."_

" _I certainly hope so. Why are these boys all_ stunned _? You should know better than to_ _—_ _"_

" _I stunned them, Professor," said Tonks, who stood tall and proud, her housemate at her feet. "Because of what they did to this poor first year."_

" _What's happened—oh my,_ who _is that?"_

" _It's Madeline Palmer," said Tonks. "She ran through just as these boys began attacking each other. I was on the other side, or I would have stopped her. I think she was trying to get to the library."_

" _She was, indeed," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "I sent her in search of something. Well, thank you for your… activism Miss Tonks, but you are free to go. Mr. Weasley—"_

" _I can take Palmer to the Hospital Wing," he said, interrupting her. "I didn't see it, unfortunately, Tonks did—I've no idea what they've done, and I have no intention of defending them. Quite frankly, I would rather be angry elsewhere."_

" _Very well," said McGonagall, her lips in a thin line. "I will have to notify Severus, but rest assured, I will deal with your housemates."_

 _Charlie nodded and bent to pick up the first year. Madeline was swollen all over, and it was looking quite unfortunate, so he walked as fast as he could while carrying her._

 _Tonks was sent to notify Professor Snape and then find Elaine Ellison, Palmer's dormitory mate, to explain to her what happened. Charlie, once he made it to the Hospital Wing, kicked the door open with his left foot, which was rather more dramatic an entrance than he had planned. He laid the first year on one of the several free medical beds and explained to Madam Pomfrey what happened just as Madeline was waking up._

" _What happened to me?" she asked groggily, her face still swollen._

" _I'll tell you when I'm done healing you, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. "You're free to go, lad."_

 _Back in the Great Hall, Charlie made his way to the Hufflepuff table first, which was always an odd experience for him. Tonks made him uncomfortable for reasons he didn't fully understand (he knew part of it was the strange sensation of knowing that he didn't_ really know _what she looked like), but he wanted to know what happened, and he knew he was still too angry to ask his mates. She saw him coming and turned to face him._

" _Is she alright?" she asked, her bright green eyes—not her real eye colour, he assumed—alight with worry._

" _She'll be fine. Pomfrey was deflating her when I left. What happened?"_

 _Charlie took an empty seat so that he wasn't awkwardly standing at the Hufflepuff table. One of Tonks' friends blushed and giggled._

" _The Slytherins only got thirty points docked and a detention each," said Tonks, her head shaking angrily. "McGonagall was not so sparing. The Gryffindors got twenty points_ each _—all five of them—and two detentions each."_

"Brilliant _," said Charlie, clenching his jaw. "I don't even want to look at them. So reckless, and right before the bloody match_ _—_ _"_

" _You can eat with us," said the girl across the table, a strained tone of hope threaded through her words. He thought her name was Michelle, but he wasn't sure—next to Tonks, it was difficult to be noticed or remembered._

" _Thanks," said Charlie gruffly, "but I've got to go inform the first years what happened. She's friends with Oliver Wood, isn't she?"_

" _If that's his name. They're damn near inseparable," said Tonks. "She's friends with some Ravenclaws, too, but I'm not sure which ones."_

" _They'll find out eventually," said Charlie, who stood and nodded. "Thanks."_

 _He walked away without another word, and while Michelle sighed dreamily, Tonks continued eating her food and tried not to be furious about the light punishments._

 _Over at the Gryffindor table, Charlie found the first years sitting together in a group at the end of the table. Wood, Tennant, and his younger brother, Percy._

" _Oi, Wood," he said as he approached them. He took a seat next to Percy, who greeted him with a nod and mouth full of food. "You're friends with that Hufflepuff girl, aren't you?"_

" _Maddie?" he asked, his small face scrunching with concern. "Yeah—why?"_

" _Now, I don't want to frighten you, lad, but she's in the Hospital Wing. She's alright—I took her there myself—"_

 _None of this mattered to Oliver, whose eyes grew large—all he heard was "frighten" and "Hospital Wing". He threw down his fork and bolted from the table, and Nicolas Tennant followed him. Percy glanced up with concern and asked for details about what happened, which allowed Charlie to finally plate himself some food._

* * *

Sunday morning arrived slowly, but Madeline was the first in the flat to make it into the kitchen. She was wearing a comfortable jumper, a pair of Oliver's maroon woolen socks, and some mismatched pajama bottoms; she tousled her hair into a bun above her ears and danced to a song in her head. The early-morning slants of sunlight crept onto the sitting room furniture and slowly into the kitchen, and the plain, Muggle houseplants Claire had bought months ago seemed to stretch with joy into the early-December light. It was cold and quiet in the flat, but Madeline didn't mind.

Charlie joined her just after she made the coffee and began frying some eggs and ham. On the weekends, they usually let Oliver and Charlie sleep until they were hungry, so she was surprised to see him.

"Morning," she said quietly.

"Morning," he replied. He yawned and pulled down a mug for the coffee.

"You're up early," said Madeline. It wasn't even seven.

"Hungry," he said. "And I couldn't go back to sleep."

"I'll be done in a few," she said. "And then you can cook whatever you'd like. Or I can make you something?"

"I like cooking," he replied. "I didn't at first, but when you live alone for long enough, you learn to enjoy it. I wish I'd learned more from my mum."

"I wish I liked it more. I'm always scared I'm going to burn something. In fact, I wish I were more like Claire in several ways."

"I don't see why you should," he replied, taking a test sip of the hot coffee.

"You don't? Claire isn't the perfect woman to whom I should aspire?" asked Madeline as she plated her eggs.

"Nah, no one's perfect. Claire's no different," he said. He looked at Madeline carefully but not unkindly. "D'you know why she doesn't want to live with me?"

Madeline glanced at Charlie and sighed. She'd been waiting for this question since Elaine's wedding, and she'd already given it some thought.

"I think she's comfortable, and I think she's developed some commitment fear because of Richard. She doesn't trust herself."

"Come again?"

"She doesn't trust herself," said Madeline as she stepped away from the stove. "She doesn't trust her own judgement enough to give her heart away so quickly. She might care for you, but I don't think she trusts her ability to trust."

"I'm not awake enough for this," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. "Commitment issues I can handle—whatever else you said made no sense."

"Simply put, she's worried that she's going to get hurt again and _blame herself_ again."

"She blames _herself_ for that bloke dumping her?"

"Yes," said Madeline solemnly, with a firm nod.

"Why?"

Charlie moved into the kitchen and began preparing his breakfast while they talked.

"Claire feels—felt—responsible for Richard's insecurity," said Madeline as she ate some of her eggs, ham, and toast. "He basically told her that her love wasn't… I dunno… sufficient, even after all those year."

"What a _numpty_ ," said Charlie.

Madeline laughed and sipped on her coffee just as Oliver strolled out of his room yawning and shirtless. The sight made Madeline smile and shake her head.

"See— _that_ —how do I get her to look at me like that?" said Charlie.

Madeline barely heard him, as Oliver pulled her close and kissed her hard.

"Come back to bed," said Oliver, voice low and grumbly, as she turned back to her plate and sat down. "You're not supposed to choose food over me."

"You were sleeping," said Madeline. "You know I don't like to wake you."

"Damn that smells good. What's that, mate?"

"Bangers," said Charlie, who glanced over his shoulder at them. "But Maddie's more important, so shove off."

Oliver's stomach rumbled with amazing timing, and Madeline nearly burst with laughter.

"Are there more?"

"Yeah, go for it," said Charlie. "Just tell me this—d'you have any tips for—how'd'you phrase it, Maddie—making Claire feel like she's enough? Does that make sense? Merlin, I can't believe I'm asking for relationship advice from 18-year olds."

Oliver was not quite awake, and he glanced from Charlie to Madeline and back to Charlie. And then to Madeline again.

"Translation?" he asked, looking at Madeline.

"If I told you that I didn't feel like my love was _enough_ for you, what would you say?"

While Madeline spoke, Oliver rubbed his face pensively.

"I'd say you lost your marbles," he mumbled. "I'm not even sure if I know what you mean."

"Like… my love wasn't enough for Nicolas, so he broke up with me," said Madeline.

"That wasn't love," said Oliver coolly. "It was attraction."

"Is that all?" Madeline asked, her eyebrows raised. "Don't tell Nicolas that."

"He should be well over that by now," he replied, looking seriously at Madeline. Charlie sat next to Madeline at the bar and watched as Oliver cooked his food.

" _Should be_? Is that why he accosted me about Seti at Elaine's wedding?"

"W _hat_?"

"He basically accused me of cheating on you with that Balinese man," said Madeline. "He wanted to know 'what really happened that night.' I was surprised to see him at the wedding, so _of course_ Nick read into it."

"I didn't know he brought it up," said Oliver. "You never told me."

"I forgot. A lot was happening then," said Madeline. "But it bothered me that he felt the need to confront me on your account, like you and I weren't capable of having the conversation ourselves. I s'pose it's nothing, really."

"It's certainly something, but we won't worry about it now. I'm still struggling with this concept," said Oliver. "How did this come up?"

"Claire and Richard," said Madeline. "He made Claire feel like her love wasn't enough for him."

"Mmm," said Oliver. "I think Richard just got scared and hurt her to push her away. And it worked. Not that I blame her, but Claire didn't put up as much of a fight as I expected she would. She didn't fight him... or for him... at all."

"She was _devastated_ ," said Madeline defensively.

"Would you let me walk away from you?" asked Oliver, turning away from the stove. He met Madeline's eyes.

"If you sat me down and unloaded all these fears and concerns about yourself and the future and then said our relationship was over because you were scared to 'hold me back,' or whatever else Richard said, I'd think you were under the Imperius curse or something. I'd think you were someone else. You've a different personality and way of... handling issues."

"What if I came in one day and told you I had fallen in love with someone else?"

Madeline felt her blood run cold. Her skin prickled like gooseflesh, and she looked down with horror at the cup of coffee in her hands.

"You're scaring her, mate," said Charlie.

"She _shouldn't be_ scared. That's the point," said Oliver. "It should sound unrealistic because it is."

"I think I'd be devastated," said Madeline.

" _Maddie_ ," he said, almost as though he was chastising her. He turned to look at her again. "You wouldn't think I was someone else?"

"I—I dunno," said Madeline. "It'd cross my mind. I'd certainly be confused and angry, but I think I'd be upset first."

"Bollocks," mumbled Oliver groggily.

Oliver plated his food and joined them at the counter to eat his food, and they let him get a few bites in without commenting.

"Mate, don't worry about it. I don't think there's any such thing as 'not enough love', or whatever," said Oliver to Charlie. "You either have the trust and communication to work through things or you don't."

"That's the sort of answer I was hoping to hear," said Charlie. "You either make it work or you don't."

"So what d'you do in Claire's case, where one of them gives up entirely?"

"She deserves someone who won't quit her because they're scared," said Charlie. "Simple as that."

"Agreed," said Oliver.

Madeline saw that there was no argument to be made with the two Gryffindor men, so she said nothing. Claire exited her room not long later after Oliver began washing all the dirty dishes, which was his Sunday chore. She always looked beautifully groggy, and Madeline still wasn't sure how this was possible in so consistent a manner. She walked up and greeted everyone with a universal "morning," and then placed herself in Charlie's arms, which were always ready to receive her. He kissed her temple twice and she grinned.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Mhmm."

"What d'you want?"

"Anything. Maybe those Belgian waffles you made a few weeks ago?"

"They'll take some time," he said into her neck and then pressed a kiss there.

"Mmm, that's alright," she said, her eyes closed. "We've plenty of time."

* * *

After Claire and Madeline finished eating and donning their winter layers, they apparated into Hogsmeade, which was bright with thick layers of snow and ice. Once inside the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta grinned. There were a few people dressed in heavy cloaks tending to their mid-morning breakfasts, but otherwise the Three Broomsticks was emptier than they'd ever seen it.

"Palmer and Denson, there you are. McGonagall's told me that I'll be seeing you two. I'll try not to be disappointed that there aren't any handsome lads with you," said Rosmerta. "The room she's arranged for you is upstairs, and you lot can order drinks and food there."

They followed Rosmerta up the stairs into the layers of bedrooms and parlor rooms. They both grew warm after the first flight of stairs and pulled off their cloaks. They walked all the way to the third landing, and once in front of an unnumbered, age-worn door, Rosmerta turned and looked at the girls.

"Go on, he hasn't been waiting for long," she said.

" _He_?" asked Madeline, but Claire was already opening the door and walking in. When Madeline could finally see past Claire's flurry of scarves and blonde hair, she recognised him immediately.

"Professor Lupin!" cried Claire happily, walking up to him quickly and shaking his hand. "We'd no idea! How exciting!"

Madeline thanked Rosmerta and smiled at the scene before her. Lupin met her eyes and she grinned.

"I should have known," said Madeline. "Who else would McGonagall trust to help us?"

"It is a pleasure to be working with the two of you again," said Lupin. "Please, sit? And you no longer have to refer to me as 'professor'."

"So, Mr. Lupin, then?" asked Claire, who was grinning as they sat on the dingy green sofa across from him.

"Whatever you prefer," he said. "I will use your first names if that is alright with you."

"Fine by me," said Claire.

"Well, I don't see a need for getting straight to business," said Lupin. "I'd love to hear about your Healer training, Madeline."

They three of them spoke for some minutes about their first foray into professional occupations, and Lupin was an excellent listener, as always. Claire spoke highly of the library, and offered to bring him books about anything he could wish for. Madeline explained how her training had been going and about her offer to complete her mentorship in New York City.

"That's quite exciting. It sounds as though you're both quite busy. So why then did you accept Auror training?"

The two young women looked at each other and then lowered their eyes before looking back up to Lupin.

"I suppose," said Madeline, "we thought we could handle it. It's not an opportunity given to many, so I personally felt that I should give it a shot."

Then, there was a sudden gush of green flames and a rumble at the fireplace, and the tall, wobbly shape of a woman appeared. The three of them stood out of curiosity and caution. The woman spurted ungracefully out of the green flames, tripped over an upturned end of the carpet covering the wooden panels of the floor, caught herself, and straightened up.

"Hello, there," she said, her voice bright and peppy.

Lupin cleared the dust, smoke, and soot with a large, sweeping motion of his wand, and then she was fully revealed. Madeline recognized her almost immediately, and she spoke before Madeline could.

"Am I in the right room?" she asked, grinning as though she had stumbled upon something unexpected. She looked from Claire and Madeline to Lupin. "I'm supposed to be helping two young ladies with Defense Against the Dark Arts training… but then, who are you?"

"Tonks?" asked Madeline. "You're to train us as well?"

"What, we have _two_ mentors?" asked Claire.

"Are you Madeline Palmer and Claire Denson?" asked Tonks.

"Yes," said Claire and Madeline at the same time.

"Dear lord, you definitely aren't children anymore, are you?" she asked, laughing like the bright, homey sound of Christmas bells. "I remember you two as wee third years, especially you, Maddie Palmer. Itching to be on the Hufflepuff House team, dedicated to being first in your year. McGonagall's told me you were Head Girl last year? I suppose your hard work paid off."

"Just barely beat the competition, I suppose," said Madeline with a confused glance between Lupin and Tonks.

" _Ah_ , that sounds like a Hufflepuff, alright," said Tonks. "Well, I'm Nymphadora Tonks, but you will all call me Tonks because I will stuff your arses into your faces if you don't."

This made Claire laugh loudly, and Madeline joined her—that was certainly the Tonks that Madeline had known briefly at Hogwarts. Lupin did not laugh or smile. As Tonks approached the sitting area, Lupin stepped out to greet her.

"Remus Lupin," he said, shaking her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I know Ted Tonks—you're his daughter?"

"Yes," said Tonks. "McGonagall asked me to help train these two, but she didn't mention that I'd be working with someone else."

"I was under the same impression," said Lupin. "However... I'm happy to share the work."

Madeline and Claire watched as they continued awkwardly interacting with one another, and eventually she sat next to him on the sofa.

"Well, had you arrived a few minutes prior, you would have heard all about their current professions and training," said Lupin. "Would you mind giving us another brief account?"

"Sure," said Claire. "I'm a librarian and Maddie's a Healer. We were accepted into the initial rounds of Auror training and Proudfoot was an absolute arse."

"Ah, yes," said Tonks while nodding. "I remember that phase. I gave them absolute hell until they left me alone."

"You sound like Nicolas Tennant," said Claire. "He's remaining in the program—we've just quit."

" _No_ , you _didn't_ ," she cried, slumping over melodramatically. "That's what he _wanted_! You've just reaffirmed all his toxic stereotypes and warped ideologies!"

"What would you have us do? Kill ourselves to keep our full-time jobs _and_ Auror training?" said Claire.

"You could've quit your other jobs," she said without hesitation. "We _need_ more women. That's likely why you both got in—you were probably _top_ in your class, and ol' Bones hoped you could make it through as I have."

Claire was shaking her head and smiling sadly.

"I _love_ my job," said Claire.

"That's why we're here," said Madeline. "We want to continue our defense training but don't want to be tied to the Ministry."

"As difficult as that decision might've been," said Lupin slowly, "I think you both have acted wisely."

Tonks rolled her eyes and glared sideways at the man sitting next to her.

"I swear I've heard your name before, but I know _nothing_ about you. How'd you qualify to teach them anything?"

Madeline bristled—Tonks was assuming that because she didn't know him, he wasn't qualified to be here.

"McGonagall obviously thought he was qualified. You don't trust her judgement?" asked Madeline.

Tonks looked to Madeline and laughed.

"Oh, this is going to be _brilliant fun_ , I can tell."

"Lupin was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year, and he was the best we'd ever had," said Madeline. "I am more surprised to see _you_ than I am to see _him_."

" _Oooh_ ," said Tonks, though it was difficult to tell if she was genuinely impressed or feigning it. "A _professor_. How _exciting_!"

"I think we should discuss a plan," said Lupin, his calm, hoarse voice easing some of the tension. "I'd had one in mind, but I'm not sure it will be sufficient for a fully trained Auror."

"Depends," she said, smirking. "What's your plan, gaffer?"

"I'd like to gauge where their nonverbal skills are, then test their knowledge of defensive spells," said Lupin evenly. He was not affected by her language. "If they are both where I believe them to be, I think it would be safe to _begin_ testing their dueling skills."

"You think they're that advanced?" asked Tonks, surprised. "They're what—seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Eighteen," said Claire. "We both can perform the Patronus Charm with varying degrees of corporeality."

"You're _joking_ ," said Tonks, who laughed brightly again. "That took me _ages_ to learn."

"Madeline's Patronus is a wolf," said Lupin. Tonks' eyebrows shot up high into her forehead.

"I've not gotten a full form yet," said Claire, who shrugged.

"That just means your memory isn't the happiest," said Tonks, who shrugged in return. "It'll come to you one day."

Claire laughed a tad bitterly, though Madeline might have been the only one to notice. Tonks sat quietly, pensively stroking her long, dark auburn hair, and staring at the floor. Madeline didn't remember what her real hair colour was because Tonks was always changing it. Today she was also sporting bright, ice-blue eyes and a long, straight nose like Nicolas'.

"I think that's a right solid plan," said Tonks, who finally looked up and nodded at Lupin. "But it needs to be flexible as well. I've just gone through an immense amount of training and passed all my qualifying exams, and I'd love an opportunity to share what I've learned."

She jumped out of her seat, threw her arms in the air, and grinned.

"Let's vanish this furniture and get to work!"

Lupin, cup of tea nearly to his lips, indulged in a small smile.

* * *

The Christmas season appeared sooner than expected, and Madeline was relieved to spend some time at home away from her friends and work. She and Claire met with Lupin and Tonks once more before the holidays, and they worked on nonverbal defensive spells again. Tonks was not pleased with their pace; she didn't think they were ready to begin dueling. Lupin, though, was all humble confidence and suggested that they discuss it further after the holidays.

Once at home, Madeline and her mum spent their time baking and talking about what Madeline's field of interests were, while Oliver and Henry talked about the ministry and living in London. At Oliver's home, the talk was all Quidditch. But the best part of being at home was the consistent smell of gingerbread cauldron cakes, homemade cider, and cedar from the forest. She spent a good bit more time at Oliver's house than ever before, but it wasn't weird; Gwen and Paul had always been very much like parents to her anyway. When Oliver's mother wasn't around, Paul took great pleasure in referring to Madeline as his daughter, which always made her laugh.

The day before Christmas Eve, as she and Paul walked to town together to get a few last-minute food items, was one such instance.

"Hurry along, daughter, we're not to dally today," he said when she had stopped to stare at the frozen loch, the forest, and the mountains off in the distance. She had missed that sight. She needed to visit home more often.

"You only call me that when my mum or Gwen aren't around. Why is that?"

"Because I imagine they're both too thrilled about your marrying my son as it is," he said gruffly. "We sort of knew, but now it's all exciting, yeah? They'll want to plan a wedding all traditional like, I'm sure. Does that frighten you?"

Madeline sighed and shook her head. "Well, no, but planning a wedding sounds like monstrous work, and I'm certainly not looking forward to it."

"What about being married?"

"To Oliver or in general?" asked Madeline

"To my son, of course!"

" _That_ I can manage," said Madeline with a laugh. "He makes everything easier."

"Mmm," said Paul. "Enjoy that feeling while you can. It won't always be that way."

"Won't it?" asked Madeline. "I can't see why not."

"You won't always agree on everything," Paul warned.

"That's not what I meant—I only meant that Oliver's way of handling problems is a relief. He's also become far better at knowing how to stay calm under pressure; I think being with Puddlemere has helped him grow a lot. I'm so proud of him."

"We're quite proud of you, too, Maddie. Don't forget that."

They were just outside of town when Madeline finally expressed the question that had been lingering bitterly on the top of her tongue.

"D'you really think Oliver and I won't be happy?"

"Oh, dear, no," said Paul, who stopped and stared at Madeline. "That's not what I meant at all. I should've been more careful with my wording."

He stuffed his mittens into his simple, Muggle-fashioned coat ("I think it looks dashing, don't you?") and looked around at the fairy lights twinkling all over the town.

"You'll be happy, but being together long-term means adjusting and redefining what happiness _is_ , see," said Paul gruffly. "I shouldn't of opened my mouth, look where it's gotten me. Ah… Maddie, you'll both be alright. You won't always agree, but that's life, y'know?"

"Yeah, I suppose," said Madeline.

"Listen, it's Christmas, let's not worry about the future, yeah? You and Oliver have little to worry about, and you should enjoy that feeling before life gets more complicated, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," said Madeline.

While they walked through town, Madeline thought of Nicolas and Richard, the two men she knew had difficulties dealing with the future. But Oliver? The thought confused her. Oliver was level-headed and confident, and he usually had a plan. _Richard was the one who crumbled from his self-induced anxiety about the future_ , Madeline thought. _But what could possibly shake us?_

Paul and Madeline then passed a group of children of all ages who were having a snowball fight. When they were safely past the snowy war zone, Madeline turned and watched the children from a distance. Some were quite small, maybe five or six, while others were nearly twelve or thirteen. There seemed to be teams, and Madeline was beginning to discern them when Paul called her to attention.

On the walk home, boots crunching through thick pillows of snow, Madeline's train of thought followed one path: _Do I want children? Does Oliver want children? Why did our parents only have one child each? Why didn't I have siblings? Claire, Nicolas, Richard… none of them had siblings either._ She was certain that Margaret had half-siblings in Italy somewhere, but the rest of their group were raised as an only child. _Why?_

* * *

At New Year's Eve, Nicolas invited all but Richard Callaghan and Peregrine Dixon. Margaret refused to be the only woman who dressed well, so she wrangled Madeline and Claire into dresses and heels. When Madeline finally exited Claire's room, Oliver smiled to see her and pulled her into his room. The others were still busy with last-minute food and decorations, so no one noticed their absence.

"I'm nearly your height in these shoes," said Madeline. "Power dynamic's going to change, I expect."

"Power dynamic?"

"It's a Claire phrase. Forget it."

"You're beautiful, as always. But you know I don't need _all this_ ," he said, gesturing to her dress and face, "to think that, right?"

"I know. You probably prefer Quidditch-pitch-sweaty-gross Maddie to all else, right?"

Oliver grinned with something like embarrassment and laughed.

"Yeah, somethin' like that. Does this look alright?"

Madeline looked over his dress shirt and trousers and nodded.

"Very handsome. But I think I'd prefer less clothes."

"Don't you get that started, alright? We don't have time for—"

"For what?" asked Madeline, grinning coyly. "It was just an observation."

"Observation my arse, Maddie," said Oliver, his pupils growing large with adrenaline. He pulled her into him and said, "Can I kiss you? Will I get lipstick everywhere?"

"No, you won't. Margaret set it magically."

Oliver picked her up, carried her to the bed, and after laying her down, began unbuttoning his nice shirt. Madeline kicked off her shoes, got up on her knees, and offered her assistance.

"Lock the door," said Madeline.

Oliver slid the shirt off his burly arms and pulled his wand from his back trouser pocket.

"We should probably be helping them," she said as Oliver propped himself over her.

"No—don't you start, they're fine," he said, leaning down to kiss her neck. Although the sensation itself triggered reactions in her body, Madeline's mind was elsewhere. She knew then that she shouldn't have said anything. She'd started this—it was all her fault, and they wouldn't get anywhere. They hadn't really gotten anywhere yet, and they certainly didn't have time now. What was she doing? Why was she doing this to him?

"Oliver, we should stop," she said, her voice small. "I don't—it'll just be more disappointing the further we go."

"What're you talking about?"

"You know what I mean," she said, sitting up. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Oliver sat back, staring at Madeline blankly as though she had slapped him. She slipped to the end of his bed and pulled her shoes back on. They both sat at the edge of the bed, their elbows on their knees. Oliver was still shirtless and covered his face with his hands. She heard him take several deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," said Madeline. Her eyes grew wet but she kept the tears in check.

Oliver stood, picked up his shirt, buttoned it, and tucked it in without saying a word. Madeline felt a chill run through her, like she'd been submerged in ice water. He wouldn't look at her. She had done this—this exact same tease-excite-retract maneuver—over the Christmas holidays, and she had just done it again. _Why?_

"Oliver?"

"It's alright, Maddie. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I know you are," he said, sitting next to her again. "I just wish I…"

Madeline waited in case he found the courage to speak his mind. He didn't, and the silence hung in the air like dark, low-lying clouds. Madeline took his hand and kissed it.

"What d'you wish?"

"I wish I wasn't so easily excited. I nearly go mad every time you look at me," said Oliver. "And that's not your fault, so don't burden yourself with more guilt. No—I know you will try, so don't. This isn't your fault."

"Not my fault? For endlessly teasing you?"

"My reactions are my responsibility."

"And I feel like I'm not taking care of you—"

"That's Claire talking, damn it," said Oliver harshly. "I'm not Richard. Our relationship isn't dependent on anything like that."

"But it _should_ be a part," said Madeline, her eyes welling up again. "And I do feel guilty."

"We will talk about this again tomorrow, alright? For now, we're alright. I'm not upset with you," said Oliver, who was still standing next to the bed.

"You should be," she replied quietly.

At this, Oliver laughed bitterly and threw his arms in the air, and Madeline looked up in surprise.

"Is that what you want? D'you want me to be _angry_?" Oliver asked.

Madeline shook her head, her face scrunched with pain and fear.

"What d'you _want_ , Maddie?"

It took Madeline a minute to formulate her response.

"I just... want this to be easier. I don't want to feel anxious every time I start thinking about us… y'know…"

"Baking biscuits?" Oliver suggested, to which Madeline laughed. They both laughed for a few good moments, Madeline starting up again every time she saw Oliver's grin.

"Yeah," she replied. "I don't know that I'll ever be comfortable... 'baking biscuits' here, even if everyone is gone, but especially if everyone's here."

"Fair enough," said Oliver. "I'm going to hex Nick for making you paranoid."

"You should! It's affected my _psyche_ , Ol. It's _all—his—fault_ ," said Madeline. She stood and tried to maintain a serious expression while Oliver pulled her back to his chest. They kissed, reigniting the flame, and Oliver stopped sooner than usual and sighed.

"Maybe all I really need is a bit of firewhisky," said Madeline. "I'd be calmer?"

"Perhaps. Let's have fun tonight and worry about this later, yeah?"

Madeline nodded and smiled. They kissed briefly again and rejoined their flatmates.

* * *

Everyone arrived in good time, and Temperance brought her new boyfriend, the Quidditch player named Ademar. He was of interest to Charlie and Oliver, who spent a good hour or so talking to him. Madeline greeted everyone and, after taking a shot of firewhisky with Claire, retreated to the outdoor area Nicolas had constructed in the last week. It was cold out, but Madeline wasn't bothered by it. In fact, it felt quite nice. She had only been outside for a few minutes when Nicolas joined her, and she didn't think to question his appearance.

"D'you want a cloak?" he asked when he first joined her.

"Nah, I'm alright," she replied.

"Why're you out here all alone?"

"Just… cooling off before dancing," said Madeline, knowing this would appease him.

"Mmm," said Nicolas. "I'd noticed the sexual tension between you and Oliver peaked again tonight."

Madeline laughed through her nose and stared at the lights of London. "Oliver's miffed at you for making me paranoid about us getting caught."

" _That's_ the problem, is it? _My presence_? Oh, dear, that's not a good sign, is it?" asked Nicolas, who was grinning. Madeline didn't rise to his bait.

"I think Oliver's also sick of me parroting Claire's relationship advice," said Madeline, who laughed softly. Nicolas said nothing, and for that, Madeline was thankful. There was no good way to respond without taking sides, which Nicolas was learning not to do.

"I have… an awkward question to ask you," said Madeline after a few minutes of thoughtful silence.

"Yeah?"

"Might be _very_ awkward," said Madeline, trying to warn him properly.

"It's alright, Maddie," he said. "Get on with it."

"D'you remember when we used to snog?"

"Yes," he said. He tried not to think about what it felt like to hold her and taste her skin. He failed. "I remember."

"Did I ever seem… easily distracted or evasive?"

Nicolas was silent again, and this time he sighed and nodded.

" _Why_?" asked Madeline, her face crumbling. "I still do it…. I can't commit to trusting Oliver in that way, and it's really starting to frustrate the both of us. What's wrong with me?"

"He wasn't there when… when Flint…. I'm not sure he'll ever fully understand that sort of embedded fear," said Nicolas.

"I'd forgotten about that…" said Madeline softly.

"Lucky for you, eh?"

"Nick, I haven't _really_ forgotten. I've just… not considered that."

"No, it's alright. I'm glad nothing worse happened. I had a feeling that you'd have issues after that. That's not something easy to recover from."

"I don't feel damaged by it, though?"

"Except that you've just said that you're struggling to trust the _one_ person you've never trusted more in your entire life," said Nicolas. He wore his 'you know I'm right' expression, and Madeline gave him a playful shove.

"I dunno what to do, honestly. I suggested a bit of firewhisky—"

"That usually gets the job done."

"—but Oliver wasn't keen on that."

"No, I'm sure he wasn't."

"What am I supposed to do, Nick? Calming charm?"

" _No_ , don't do that," said Nicolas. "It'll wreck any passion you're feeling."

"Brilliant," said Madeline. She threw her head up and stared at the dark sky, littered with stars barely visible because of the city lights.

"Maybe your focus is the issue, rather than the worry. Try focusing on _just_ Oliver rather than anything or anyone else."

"Maybe…"

"But I think it's just a simple case of learning to just _let go_ , in which case, firewhisky _will_ do the trick. You're all gooseflesh—let's get inside."

Madeline grudgingly followed Nicolas back inside, where the air was much warmer. Then she saw why no one had missed her—Amelia had arrived, and, once again, she had brought with her a handsome friend.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Doppelg** **än** **ger**

"D'you have feelings for me?"

She laughed and didn't stop for some time.

"Yeah, alright, don't laugh your trousers off."

"Nicolas Tennant, what on earth could you want with me?"

"I don't—I don't _want_ anything, you just seemed particularly attached to me, so I wanted to get it out in the open. I don't have feelings for you."

"That's alright. You're not my type," she said evenly.

"Nonsense. I'm everyone's type," said Nicolas with a crooked smirk.


	14. Doppelgänger

**Chapter 14: Doppelg** **ä** **nger**

"Don't allow your rituals to become ruts."  
\- Todd Henry

* * *

Patrick Willoughby stood next to a glowing Amelia and a bouncing Elaine looking both excited and nervous. Amelia was introducing Patrick to Andrew and Oliver as Nicolas and Madeline walked indoors. Patrick glanced over and then looked again. When Patrick's eyes met hers, they stopped and widened. He shook his head, a slow grin growing across his lips.

"No… _not you too_ ," he said. Although music was playing and people were talking, it seemed to be quieter in the room than Madeline remembered. Part of her, she knew, felt embarrassed to re-acquaint herself with Patrick Willoughby in this setting and without being quite sober. But she smiled and laughed anyway.

"You've met?" asked Elaine, who looked delighted.

"Once," said Patrick quickly. "No… I can't believe it. And you…"

He turned to Amelia, who had rolled her lips into her mouth in an attempt to stop grinning. Madeline ran over to Amelia and threw her arms around her waist.

"I'm sorry… it would have been illegal for me to tell you," said Madeline, looking up at Patrick with a pout. "Truly."

"Did you know each other when we met?" asked Patrick, who was referring to Amelia.

"No—it was… an interesting story. I'll let Amelia tell all," said Madeline. "Just know that I'm very happy to have helped secured your happiness."

"I still don't believe any of this magic business," said Patrick quietly to Madeline. "None of it. Hold the phone… is this the Oliver you told me of?"

Patrick pointed at Oliver and Madeline laughed and nodded.

"Amelia, I'm glad you could make it," said Nicolas, who was sick of not having the spotlight. He shook hands with Patrick and introduced himself while Oliver walked over and touched Madeline's back.

"And you're—you're a… wizard too?" asked Patrick.

Nicolas stared, wide-eyed, at the man standing before him. He glanced at Amelia and then to Maddie.

"Er, yes?"

"Everyone here is," said Amelia patiently. "They all went to school together, remember?"

"Wizard school?!"

"Yes—he's acting like I hadn't told him any of this," said Amelia to Madeline, her hand laying on Patrick's chest. "I'm the only non-Muggle he's met, you'll have to forgive him. It's all still a bit of a shock."

Madeline smiled sweetly, twirled her wand, and turned to the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be a small, white-painted end table.

"Maddie, how much booze have you had? I don't want any mangled—"

"Shhh," said Madeline to Nicolas, placing a finger to her lips. She winked at Patrick and began to concentrate, wand facing the end table.

"What's she doing?"

"Shhh, watch," said Amelia.

Madeline took a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders back, twitched her wrist, and concentrated on the correct spells and mental procedures. Several moments later, the end table began shifting—shrinking, widening, sprouting legs and a tail—until it had transformed into a Dalmatian. Elaine and Kendra both laughed and squealed with happiness before cornering the dog and lavishing it with pets, scratches, and rubs.

"Oh shit!" cried Patrick, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "She just—she turned an inanimate object into an animate being!"

Madeline sighed heavily and grimaced. "But it should've had more spots."

Patrick's eyes still wide, he turned and gazed at Madeline as though she had sprouted horns.

"That's bloody brilliant! What else can you do?"

"We can _all do_ quite a lot," said Amelia quickly. "Transfiguration just happens to be Madeline's specialty."

"So what were you really doing in St Andrews?" he asked.

"Studying, as I said. I was studying to become a Healer… our version of a doctor," said Madeline.

"I'll bet you were. Christ, it feels like I've been living with my eyes closed."

"Have you ever had firewhisky?" asked Nicolas. "Or maybe a butterbeer to start?"

"We brought some mead to share," said Amelia. "But I was hoping you'd have butterbeer for him to try."

As they followed Nicolas into the kitchen and introduced themselves to Margaret, Penelope, and Percy, Oliver wrapped his arms around Madeline.

"Nice party trick," he said.

"It was a bit showy, wasn't it?"

"Only a bit," he replied, grinning. He kissed her. "I like that Ademar fellow."

"Do you? I haven't spoken with him," said Madeline, who glanced around in the hopes of getting a look at the couple.

"Maddie, what should we do with him?" cried Kendra, who looked concerned for the Dalmatian. Peter and Murray approached and were petting the dog as well.

"Oh, I can change him back," she replied.

"What?! Back to an _end table_? But he's a whole life to look forward to now!" said Kendra.

"Well, I suppose you lot can keep him if Nick's alright with losing his end table?"

"Love, we don't need a dog," said Peter. "D'you want him, mate?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure," said Murray.

"You're all being ridiculous," said Elaine with a laugh. "Maddie, turn it back before they all have fits."

"Alright," said Madeline, relieved to have a decision made. She turned her wand on the dog, which Peter held still, and refashioned it back into the end table. It was a bit of a letdown, Madeline could tell, so she apologised.

"That's alright, Maddie," said Elaine. "Let's go dance!"

* * *

Nicolas had certainly been correct about one thing—Oliver was finding it difficult to keep his hands off Madeline. He hardly left her side, and his hand or arm was nearly always touching her. The more drinks they had, the more obvious their attraction became, and the more difficult it became to resist.

They talked about what the upcoming year would be like and how Oliver's training was going. Madeline had had several drinks by this point, and, in her heels, she was tottering a bit every time she moved her feet or transitioned her legs. At one point, Oliver held her closer as she tottered, and she whispered in his ear.

" _I know you want me, so after midnight, we're disappearing_ ," she said, her body twinging in several places.

Oliver's jaw clenched and he did his best to maintain his composure. He knew that the firewhisky was speaking for her, but the firewhisky in him was desperate to respond. He wanted to disappear _now_. He looked at his watch. It was 45 minutes 'til midnight. His adrenaline spiked, he set his glass down, he picked Madeline up, and he carried her into his room. He didn't care if anyone saw, but he felt certain no one did, as Nicolas had begun showing off his miniature fireworks in anticipation for the others to come.

Once in his room, Oliver locked his door nonverbally and Madeline's mouth met his. He carried her to his bed, onto which she willingly jumped and immediately removed her heels and dress. Oliver's breath caught when he saw her, but he continued trying to unbutton his dress shirt with shaking hands. Shoes gone, trousers gone. Shirt still buttoned. Madeline laughed and pulled him on top of her. In a dizzying frenzy of hands and lips, she managed to unbutton his shirt, and he extricated himself from it so quickly and carelessly that he ripped it, causing Madeline to laugh again. The sound was beautiful, and he grinned to hear it.

* * *

It wasn't until just before midnight that Nicolas spotted two of his closest friends exit their shared bedroom. He alone had taken note of their absence, as the others were far more occupied with their friends and significant others. When they did finally emerge, Madeline was still in the same dress, though her hair was now in a messy bun, and Oliver was wearing a different shirt.

Nicolas watched as they glanced at each other with embarrassed half-grins and made their way to different people. He had finished the miniature firework display he had been working on for weeks and was preparing the other fireworks when Oliver found him.

"What happened to your shirt, mate?"

"Ripped it," he said, trying to smother a grin. Nicolas laughed and shook his head.

"How'd'you manage that?"

"D'you have to ask?"

"I s'pose not. You don't have to tell me anything."

"I s'pose I don't," said Oliver as he looked at the various fireworks. "I s'pose, instead, you'll just have to imagine us figuring it out."

This was not meant to sound smug, but it landed bitterly in Nicolas' ears. Rather than take offense, which was what he felt like doing, he pressed on.

"I'm guessing you figured something out, since you're acting like a bloody prick," said Nicolas. He took a sip of the expensive champagne Margaret had demanded they provide for their party.

"Well spotted," said Oliver. "It's fun to be as cocky as you, y'know?"

Nicolas laughed.

"It doesn't suit you," he replied. "Besides, Claire will tell me everything anyway, warts and all."

"Claire," said Oliver with a shake of his head. "I don't understand Claire."

"You never took the time to understand any woman but Madeline," said Nicolas, who glanced up to see Claire drunkenly harassing Madeline. "As long as _something_ happened, I'm happy for you."

"We took the first big step. That's all I'll say."

"'Bout damn time, mate," said Nicolas, who clapped Oliver on the shoulder.

Claire's conversation with Madeline went quite differently, as she stubbornly refused to provide any information whatsoever. She just grinned, covered her red face with her hands, and shook her head.

Nicolas checked his watch and announced the countdown: "Minute left, everyone! Get your hats and bibs and booze and whatever else!"

"You're going to tell me," said Claire, who gripped Madeline's arm tightly. Charlie, at seeing this unfold, walked over to Oliver and Nicolas to help them with the larger fireworks.

"Why's Maddie's face the colour of a tomato?" he said to Oliver.

"Three guesses," said Nicolas. "Help us with this crate, will you?"

" _No_ ," said Charlie, who grinned at Oliver. " _Tonight_?"

Oliver grinned and shook his head, which Charlie took to mean " _don't ask_."

They carried the crate out onto the balcony and the entire party followed. They set up the fireworks, shouted the countdown, and watched as the sky exploded with wonderful shapes, colours, and images. The couples kissed, blissfully secure in their love and happiness, until the balcony grew quiet, despite the sounds of the city and Muggles celebrating all over. They all eventually realised that there was one pair who hadn't kissed themselves into the New Year.

In the middle of the balcony, Peter was on bended knee, and Kendra was nodding her head, brown curls wobbling, while she cried. She was wearing a bright red dress, as per her usual, and Peter was sliding a small gold ring onto her left hand.

"Damn," said Patrick, who was standing with Amelia. Oliver squeezed Madeline around the waist and kept his eyes straight ahead, as if show respect for the newly engaged couple. Elaine and Penelope were jumping around in their heels and cheering.

Then, Peter stood and kissed Kendra hard, tears and all. When he pulled away, he kept his hands on her face and said, "I love you. You make me the happiest man on earth."

The whole crowd clapped and cheered, even the always-mildly-annoyed Margaret.

"Except for all the other men who got engaged tonight," whispered Amelia in Madeline's ear while the others were cheering. Madeline smiled back at Amelia in agreement. "I assure you, there are thousands of men becoming 'the happiest man on earth' tonight."

"If it's true for them, what does it matter?" asked Patrick, squeezing Amelia's hand.

Oliver glanced back at Patrick with a smile before walking up to congratulate the couple. Madeline supposed that Patrick balanced Amelia's world-weary cynicism.

"I'm happy for her," said Madeline to Amelia. "That's what she wanted."

"I just hope she didn't force him into some sort of ultimatum to get this result," said Amelia with a frown. "Such deals rarely end well."

"I imagine not," said Madeline.

"Any developments on your end?"

"I'm starting my internship—that's what the Americans call it, anyway—at the wizarding hospital in New York next week, so that's exciting and a bit nerve-wracking," said Madeline.

"Exciting indeed!" said Patrick, who Amelia then shooed him away.

"I meant with Oliver," said Amelia quietly. "Before we go congratulate them, I'd love to know."

"No developments," said Madeline, who hardly repressed her smile. Amelia made a disbelieving expression, and Madeline laughed. "Let's get lunch, and I'll tell you what there is to tell."

"Brilliant! I know the perfect place for lunch in NYC."

The two women nodded to confirm their plan and then joined the queue of congratulators.

* * *

Several days later, Madeline stood in front of the fireplace, her left hand touching her face. She had pulled half of her reddish-brown hair and tied it back in an elastic, and her worn leather purse sat securely across her body (left-to-right, as usual). She took a deep breath, her eyes shifting from the fireplace to the flattering forest-green skirt that complemented her skin and hair and fit her better—and by this, Margaret had meant tighter—than most of her other clothing. She had paired it with a maroon blouse and black heels borrowed from Claire.

"You've got to give the right impression," Margaret had said. "You're a professional. This is how professional women dress!"

Madeline took another deep breath and closed her eyes. She felt as though she could vomit with nerves. Although she had felt similarly on her first day at St Andrews, today meant entering into a new work environment, new city, new culture, and new country. The months (years) of studying, of shadowing, of area exams and practical exams… it was all for this.

"Maddie?"

Oliver's voice broke Madeline out of her contemplation, and she turned to see him half-naked and looking concerned.

"Alright?"

"Yeah," said Madeline. She laughed slightly out of her nose and her chest gave a jolt at seeing Oliver's terribly fit torso half-dried, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, his face lined with undue concern. He must have just popped out of the shower. She wished she had joined him.

"I wasn't sure if I would see you," said Madeline. "I wanted to leave early in case I get lost."

Oliver nodded, closed the distance, and gave her a brief kiss.

"You're brilliant. They'll love you, just as we do," said Oliver.

"No one could love me like you do," said Madeline with a smothered grin.

"Too right you are, m'dear," said Oliver happily. "Have a wonderful first day."

"I will. It'll be great," she said bracingly.

"It _will_ ," he repeated with earnest. "See you tonight. Training might run late again, but wait up for me?"

"Of course," said Madeline.

"Love you."

"And I you."

As Oliver walked away, Madeline took aim and slapped his towel-covered arse, the palm of her hand cupping it perfectly. He barked a laugh, winked at her, and disappeared into his room.

Madeline laughed at her own daring, took another deep breath, and then used the Floo to travel to New York City's wizarding hospital.

She exited the fireplace in a flurry of other employees who were all dressed in sky-blue, navy, and maroon scrubs. They all had their eyes forward and knew exactly where they were going. Madeline, though, stumbled to the side and looked around as she gathered her wits.

The room she was in—more like an atrium—was as massive as the entrance to the Ministry of Magic in London, and had a similar line of fireplaces on each side. The ceiling was high and domed and made of glass—she wasn't sure if it actually looked out onto the sky or if it was magicked like her own Ministry's windows.

There was a large, circular information booth in the middle of the atrium, so Madeline made her way there purposefully. There were three young men and two young women stationed at the booth. The men were each speaking to different people, and the woman Madeline approached had a large, toothy smile that matched the brilliance of her corn-coloured hair.

"Hi, how are you?" she asked, grinning brightly at Madeline as she approached.

"I'm well, thanks," said Madeline with a nod. "A bit unsure of where to go, though, I'm afraid—"

"Oooooo! Where ya from? Are you one of the new interns?" she cried, her eyes lighting up.

Madeline's brain spun as the woman's American accent washed over her ears, dulling the meaning of her words and highlighting the foreign sounds.

"Er—yes," said Madeline, not sure which question to answer. "I'm supposed to meet with Mrs. Turner?"

The young woman flipped through some loose papers in untidy stacks, said "I'll be right back," and then walked away to ask one of the men a question. When she returned, she lifted a large, handheld device with buttons on it to her ear. Madeline was fairly certain she was using a _telephone_ , but she wished she had Claire or Amelia to reassure her.

"Hi, Mrs. Turner? It's Katie from the Visitor Center. Are you expecting another intern this morning? Uh-huh. Yeah." The woman lifted her eyes to Madeline and smiled. "What's your name?"

"Madeline Palmer."

"Madeline Palmer," said Katie, her "r" sounding unwieldy and strange. "Mmhmm. Yeah, sure, I can bring her up. Yeah. Cool! See you in a minute! Aaaaww-suuum, so Mrs. Turner wants me to give you a brief tour of the larger building and then you've got some orientations to sit through."

"Are there several interns?"

"Oh, yeah, of course! I think you're the twelfth. I know one of them is from France, but I'm sure you'll meet them all really soon."

"Right," said Madeline stupidly. She would need to get used to this accent and the speed with which it was utilized as quickly as possible. Katie hardly heard her and turned to the other woman, who was busily flipping through a glossy Muggle-looking fashion magazine and sipping, through a yellow straw, a dark-coloured beverage that looked quite fizzy and American.

"Cassidy, I'm giving a tour! I'll be back in like 10 minutes."

"Yeah, whatever," said Cassidy.

"That means you have to _talk to people_ ," said Katie as though she were talking to a child.

"I know what my job is," said Cassidy with a roll of her eyes. "I've been here longer than you, remember?"

Katie huffed, took Madeline's arm, and led her toward one of the lifts, which were also made of glass (or were, at the very least, see-through).

"Ignore her—she doesn't ever do anything. I'm Katie, by the way! Almost forgot to introduce myself, ha! What's your name?"

"Madeline," she replied.

"So pretty! And, like, the way you say it—uuuggh! Gor-juuuuus!"

"Thanks," said Madeline. "How many floors are there?"

"Oh—right—shoot—let me go grab a map," she said as she darted back to the Visitor Center. When she returned, she handed the piece of thin, colourful paper to Madeline.

"So this is the Plaza, or the ground floor, where a lot of people enter and leave. We check in visitors and make sure they're all going to the right place. The employees usually come from the green fireplaces—yeah, those there on the left—and the visitors usually come from the red ones there on the right. Over there on the North end of the hall is the street exit. Most people don't use it, but it's useful to know that it's there."

"Sure," said Madeline, who followed Katie's pointed index finger toward the North wall, where there was more glass and several large double-door exits.

"And its Muggle-proof, the building is?" Madeline asked.

"Um, wha'd you say?" asked Katie, who leaned in closer as though she hadn't heard her question.

"Is the building Muggle-proof? Can Muggles find the building?"

"D'you mean… the non-magic people? The No-Majs?"

"Right… the _non-magic people_ ," said Madeline, again feeling absolutely idiotic. "We call them 'Muggles'."

" _Muggles_ ," said Katie as they stood in the queue for the nearest lift. "What an odd word. It sounds pretty pejorative to me, but what do I know? Well, we call them No-Majs. Because… you know, like, they _don't have magic_."

"Makes sense," said Madeline assured her, but she secretly thought this was odd coming from people who used Muggle technology.

"But no, no—they can't find the building. Of course not. We're pretty strictly segregated."

"Was a stupid question," said Madeline. "Of course it's hidden."

"It's cool," said Katie lightly as they entered the see-through lift. Madeline nodded wondering what "cool" meant in this context, and she watched as her body (and all the other bodies on the lift) floating higher into the atrium—or Plaza. The back and sides of the lift faced the Plaza, while the doors opened up to corridors that led to different hospital units.

"So, the elevators are here, obviously. There are a bunch of them, and I've never had to wait longer than 10 minutes, and that's during peak hours, like right now."

"Early morning is the busiest time of day?"

"8 am is usually the busiest, but each unit has different shifts that can get kinda chaotic. I can give you a list of those too, if you want, but I'm sure you'll figure it out pretty fast."

"Alright," said Madeline.

"So, the first floor is the Geriatric hospital. We have a surprising amount of old people in the city and the surrounding metro areas, so it's quite a busy floor. I wouldn't go there unless you really need to."

"Why not?"

"Why would you?"

"Curiosity?" Madeline asked, shrugging.

Only two people got off the _elevator_ at the first floor, and then they continued up. At the second floor, more than half the people exited.

"The second floor is the Pediatric hospital. Again, quite a busy floor."

"Why's it so busy?"

"Kids get into all sorts of trouble in the city. They see hundreds of kids a day, and many of them have to stay overnight for monitoring."

"Monitoring?"

"Making sure they heal properly? You're a Healer, right?"

"Yes," said Madeline. "But the terminology seems to be quite different here."

"Oh. Well, just making sure they're, like, healing the right way, I guess."

"Makes sense," said Madeline.

"Are you nervous?" asked Katie as she made eye contact with Madeline, who finally realised that her eyes were brown, but darker than Oliver's.

" _Of course I am_ ," Madeline whispered. "Wouldn't you be?"

"Oh, I don't know, I guess so. Well, here's the third floor. These are the offices, lockers, and food courts for the Geriatric and Pediatric staff and patients. Everything from the fourth floor up is the various adult units, staff areas, food courts, and things like that."

At the fourth floor, Katie grew solemn.

"This is the EU—the Emergency Unit. This is where they take the patients who need the most attention. I'm not sure what your area of expertise is, but you might end up here."

Madeline nodded and they continued up. The fifth floor was the Women and Infants' Center, the sixth was the Memory and Long-Term Care Center, and the seventh floor was the normal intake floor.

"That's honestly the busiest floor because that's where most people show up," said Katie. "You'll see it later—there are only three fireplaces, but still, that's where everyone goes."

By the eighth floor, Katie and Madeline were the only ones left on the lift, and that was where they exited.

"The ninth and tenth floor are more offices for the important people who run things, and I've never been up there," said Katie. "But here we are—eighth floor! This is where they have meetings and stuff, I think, and I know they like to do Healer retreats up here sometimes."

"Retreats?" asked Madeline, her eyebrows flinching.

"Like a work-related team-building weekend?"

"Oh. Interesting."

They walked down a few different hallways, and when they reached another desk, Katie asked for Mrs. Turner. After waiting for several moments, an older woman with short, curly grey appeared.

"Ah, you must be Madeline Palmer! Thank you, Katie," she said, nodding at Katie, who waved at Madeline and then promptly walked away.

"Welcome to New York. I hope the tour wasn't too overwhelming?"

"It was brief," Madeline assured her.

"Excellent. So all of the interns we have already were grouped together in the fall for their initial training and exams, similar to what you experienced at St Andrews. But I'm sure you'll find they are all capable and intelligent Healers."

"Alright," said Madeline, who noted Mrs. Turner's defensive tone but said nothing about it. _I'm the black sheep, then?_ she wondered.

"We have several orientations to sit through first, and then we can talk about your placement and specialisation, is that OK?"

"Sure," said Madeline.

"Fantastic. Let's get you in with the other interns. We're very excited to have you with us, Miss Palmer, and I hope you will enjoy your time working with our Healers. I have considered pairing you with Mr. Anderson or Mr. Abernathy, but I wanted to _meet_ you first—get a feel for your personality. Mrs. Gowling hinted that you were motivated but nervous, which is understandable."

"It's normal to be nervous in a new place," said Madeline. "It's not a problem once I get settled, I assure you."

"We run a very large operation here, Miss Palmer. You may rotate through six or seven units before you discover your specialisation, and you certainly will see most of the hospital before you leave. I cannot guarantee that you will ever get _settled_ into any one unit for very long."

"That's alright—once I'm adjusted to this hospital, I'll manage."

"That's great to hear, Miss Palmer. I can tell you that we're all excited to have you here."

Madeline thought this was odd—hearing an older professional Healer talk about her being there as if she were doing them all some great honour by finishing her training there.

They continued walking for some time, and then, after entering a pair of wooden double-doors, Madeline was suddenly facing a room of about fifteen other young people in really nice clothes. They were all mingling and eating _hors d'oeuvres_ and looking like they all knew each other. The room was fashioned like a small lecture room, with rows of chairs bolted to the floor and little arm rests where you could take notes. There was a small stage at the front and a large wooden podium. Then, suddenly, Mrs. Turner urged Madeline forward a bit and cleared her throat, which somehow silenced the room.

"Everyone, meet our final intern, Madeline Palmer. She studied at St Andrews and will be with us for at least six months."

Madeline smiled nervously and awkwardly waved her left hand. A few smiled at her, but many of the other interns turned to each other and began whispering. Madeline thought Mrs. Turner would notice and tell them off for being rude, but instead she walked up to the front of the room where a well-groomed man was attempting to adjust the podium. Madeline watched as they began speaking, and she noticed that while the man listened attentively, he nodded so often that he seemed annoyed by Mrs. Turner's presence. Madeline stood isolated, quiet, and lonely at the back of the room and looked down at her feet—she was neither hungry nor thirsty. She was tired and wanted to go back to her flat in London.

* * *

There had been rumors that Olivia Palmer's daughter would be in their intern group, but Josh hadn't believed it until Mrs. Turner announced her name then and there. She was shorter and more athletic-looking than he'd imagined, but her face was pretty… in a symmetrical, proper sort of way. Sophie was standing to his left and she moved to her tiptoes to whisper her surprise.

" _No way_ —she looks so young!"

Josh heard other whispers of similar surprise cropping up in their midst, and he watched the dismay bloom on her small, pretty face as Mrs. Turner walked over to Mr. Machin.

Josh winked at Sophie, set down his plate of half-eaten fruit and cheeses, and turned to fill a clean cup with water. Then, without having any sort of plan in mind, he approached Olivia Palmer's daughter.

"Hi," he said in voice he thought to be friendly. He held out the cup to her. "I'm Josh. Want some water?"

Olivia Palmer's wide eyes shot up from her feet with surprise bordering on fear, and he met them without looking away. Her eyes were hazel—an attractive amalgamation of brown, green, and yellowish-gold—and they stalled his brain for a moment. He watched dimly as her pink lips moved and a sound came out, but he either didn't hear or couldn't make sense of what she said.

"What?"

"I said 'thank you'," she said, more loudly this time.

"Oh, it's not a problem. Your name's… Madeline, right?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding. She took a sip of the water and evaded his eyes by looking nervously around the room.

"Well, welcome. Everyone's surprised to see you," he explained, thinking that he should be honest with her. "None of us _really_ expected to be working with Olivia Palmer's daughter. We thought it was just a rumor."

"Wha—what's my mum got to do with anything?" she asked, her eyebrows contracting.

Josh laughed and felt his neck growing hot. Her voice and accent were absurdly cute, and her apparent naivete would make her an easy target. He couldn't even tell if she was virgin… she radiated innocence but also exhibited a keen awareness of her own body. It fascinated him. Every impulse of mind and body urged him to touch her. He'd find a way.

"Your mom is an _internationally acclaimed_ memory Healer. She's mentioned in all our textbooks," said Josh with a grin. "No pressure, but your mom's famous."

At this, the young woman laughed, and her reddish-brown hair glinted as she threw her head back slightly. Her face cleared of all fear and nerves and she shook her head.

"I should've known," said Madeline, taking another sip of water. "She never tells me anything."

"You're joking," said Josh with a laugh.

"Perhaps she doesn't know," said Madeline, whose left hand thoughtlessly wandered to her lips.

"I'm _sure_ she knows. Tell me your specialty isn't memory—everyone here would hate you, including me."

"That's an awfully petty reason to hate someone," said Madeline. "And no—I'm not sure what I want to specialise in yet, actually."

"Everyone's petty," said Josh blankly as he looked toward the group of other interns. "Most of us have been stuck together since we were about 11. I can tell you everyone's names, where they're from, and who they're sleeping with. Would you like to know?"

He looked down at Madeline only to see her grimace.

"You're all shagging each other? What sort of workplace is this?"

At this, Josh laughed loudly enough to gather the attention of Sophie, who couldn't resist waiting any longer. As she approached, he introduced her.

"This is Sophie Méndez, and we're 'shaggin', as you said. She's from California and likes cats and No-Maj TV shows."

"What are you telling her about me?" asked Sophie with suspicion when she arrived.

"That you love cats and watching _Friends_ ," said Josh with ease. "She _really is_ Olivia Palmer's daughter. Better introduce yourself."

"Hi, I'm Sophie. It's nice to meet you," said Sophie politely. "And it's true, I do love cats."

"I also told her that we're sleeping together," said Josh lightly. "You know, to break the ice."

"Josh!" cried Sophie, who slapped his chest. "You're such a pig. You shouldn't be telling anyone."

"Like you don't?" he asked.

Sophie huffed, flipped her beautiful brown hair, and glared at him.

"Relax—she doesn't know anyone. I'm trying to get her acquainted with the way our group works," said Josh, who gestured at Madeline.

"Thanks, but I'm going to go find a seat," said Madeline, who smiled a half-grimace and strode away.

"Now look what you've done—she's gone," said Josh.

"Oh my _god_ —I can't believe you. She's next on your to-fuck list, isn't she?"

"'Course. She's Olivia Palmer's daughter, she's cute, and she's _here_."

* * *

Madeline took a seat in the front row of chairs and finished the cup of water that the intern named Josh had brought her. A few minutes later, Sophie and another female intern came and sat to her left.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Josh—he's an idiot," said Sophie.

"Such an asshole," said the other woman, who leaned past Sophie to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Amy."

"Madeline."

"So you _really are_ Olivia Palmer's daughter?"

"I'd no idea my mum was such a big deal 'cross the pond," said Madeline while she nodded. "Today's been quite disorientating on the whole."

"Well, just so you know," said Amy, "all of the guys will probably try to sleep with you."

"Josh's already tried," said Sophie to Amy scornfully.

"I don't plan on _sleeping with_ anyone," said Madeline. "I've got a boyfriend."

"So do I," said Amy. "That's not going to stop them from testing the waters."

Madeline took a deep breath and felt her jaw clenching. There was an awkward, pregnant silence between the three young women as others began filling in the seats behind them.

"And this behavior—it's not reported or punished or anything?" asked Madeline.

"No," said Sophie. "It's just what happens when you get this many young, smart, attractive people together. At least, that's what the older interns told us last year."

"How horrid," said Madeline. "My relationship means more to me than this internship, and St Mungo's would take me no questions asked. I don't mind reporting inappropriate behavior."

Sophie and Amy seemed surprised to hear this, and as they were about to respond, Josh approached and sat in the empty seat on Madeline's right. He leaned in to speak to her and placed his hand lightly on her forearm as though they were intimate friends.

"Have they turned you against me yet?"

Rather than responding, Madeline retrieved her wand and dug it into his clavicle to push him away. She thought about burning him but resisted the urge.

"I will take that as a 'yes'," he said with a chuckle. "That's fine, I love a challenge."

"I've a boyfriend, and you're repulsive," said Madeline seriously. "Don't ever touch me again."

"Oh yeah, what's his name?"

"Oliver—not that it matters to you."

"' _Oliver_ '," he mimicked, using a higher tone. "What a puss name."

This time, Madeline did intend to burn, and she was about to scald his left arm when a male intern sitting in the row behind them spoke.

"Dude—leave her the fuck alone," he said.

"Make me, Cohen," said Josh with an _I-dare-you_ grin.

Madeline wasn't sure who the guy was or what he was capable of doing, but when Josh touched her arm again, she dug her wand into it and scalded it, leaving a small but quite deep burn. He jumped up and away from her but did not scream—he eyes grew wide and red and furious, and he ran from the room.

"Where's Mr. Benson going?" asked the man at the front of the room.

"To the bathroom—it was an emergency," said Sophie loudly.

* * *

After several long and boring safety and policy orientations, Mr. Machin, the Healer directly in charge of the Internship Program, introduced himself to Madeline.

"Madeline, it's so good to finally meet you! We're really looking forward to working with you to develop a schedule that allows you to develop your specialisation—I know you haven't quite found your niche yet, right?"

"That's correct," said Madeline.

"Perfect. We'll rotate you through several different units so that you can get a feel for multiple kinds of work. It should be interesting."

"Thank you," said Madeline. "I look forward to it."

At lunch, Madeline got to know Noëlle, the woman from France, and Jamila, a woman from Georgia. They both seemed smart and kind, and Madeline finally felt relieved that she could find nice among the larger group. Amy and Sophie joined them soon after they filled their plates.

"Josh's pissed," said Sophie seriously. "I've never seen him this angry."

"Well, I burned a hole in his arm. I'd be angry, too," said Madeline.

"You did _what_?" cried Jamila.

Amy recounted the brief story to Jamila and Noëlle, and soon it circulated through the entire intern group—Madeline Palmer had a significant other and was not to be touched.

"I have been wanting to hex him for years," said Jamila later when she offered to show her around a bit before the next few sessions. As they made their way back to the lecture room, they continued to talk. "I've known him since school and I've always hated him."

"What school did you go to?"

"It's called Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We all went there, except for Noëlle, who went to Beauxbatons. We're all really fucking sick of each other, too, I can tell you that."

"Oh—I should have asked her—I have a few friends who went to Beauxbatons. But I'd love to know more about Ilvermorny? Are there Houses?"

"Yes, of course. I've read all about Hogwarts—I've always wanted to see it! It sounds so romantic to be in a huge castle lost in the Scottish Highlands. I can't even begin to imagine!"

"Well," said Madeline with a smile, "I can take you one day!"

"Oh, god, don't get my hopes up like that. So at Ilvermorny there are four Houses—just like Hogwarts. I was a Pukwudgie, as was Amy and Bradley—he's the shorter one with blond hair. It's traditionally the House of Healers, and it's said to represent the human heart."

"That sounds like my sort of House," said Madeline happily.

"Then there's the Thunderbirds, who are the adventurous, unpredictable folks like Josh and Sophie. Those two have a… turbulent history. But the House is said to represent the human soul."

"Interesting. So like Gryffindor."

"Yeah—and then there's Wampus, which are the warriors. It's said that this House represents the human body. They're usually outgoing and courageous people. Like, fighters. Law enforcement, y'know?"

"Oh… maybe _they're_ the Gryffindors."

"Maybe," said Jamila with a shrug. "And then there are the Horned Serpents, who represent the human mind. They're the smart kids."

"Ah, Ravenclaws. That sounds so fascinating to have the human mind and human heart and such associated with the Houses!"

"So the Horned Serpents are Eric—the dude standing with Bradley—and Lola—the gorgeous, quiet redhead over there—and Gabe—the guy in the dark-purple shirt—"

"Oh—he's the one who tried to get Josh to leave me alone this morning."

"Yeah, he's a decent guy," said Jamila. "If you're going to get to know any of these assholes, he's probably the one I'd recommend. Gabe's not an idiot and doesn't hit on everything with tits."

"Why are there so many of you from the same school?"

"It's the biggest school on the East Coast, and it's a good school," said Jamila. "And this is a huge hospital. You probably won't see most of the other interns during normal rotation hours, as they'll all be trying to kiss their mentors' asses by working extra shifts."

"Extra shifts?"

"Oh, Madeline, you have so much to learn," said Jamila with a sympathetic yet coy smile. Then she waved at the young man in the purple shirt. "Hey—Gabe—"

Madeline watched as Jamila waved him over and he grudgingly stood and made his way to them.

"Yeah, Jamila?"

"You should meet Madeline. She's skilled in Transfiguration, just like you," said Jamila with a smile. "I'll go save us some seats."

And then she walked away, leaving Madeline alone with a random male intern. Madeline internally rolled her eyes and outwardly took another deep breath. The young man standing in front of her was surprisingly handsome—more so than all of the other men she'd seen in New York thus far—and looked perpetually disinterested in his surroundings.

"Hi," said Gabe. "I'm Gabriel, but everyone calls me Gabe."

"Madeline Palmer. My boyfriend calls me Maddie," said Madeline, who cringed when she heard her own voice. The guy laughed with something like disbelief.

"Look—I get it… but I'm not—no offence or anything—but I…"

Madeline felt her face turning red and the covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, Merlin," she mumbled.

"I'm not interested," said Gabe.

"I know," said Madeline as she shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"Tell me about the... um—Transfiguration stuff."

"Oh—er—well… not to sound… er—full of myself or anything, but that's what I'm best at. I can do the other Healing techniques well enough once I've practiced a bit, but Transfiguration is my strong suit. That's why the team at St Andrews suggested I come here instead of St Mungo's for my last six months."

"Really? Hmm…" said Gabe, whose voice and eyes trailed away.

"What is it?"

"Have you told Mr. Machin?"

"No, I don't think so," said Madeline.

Gabe nodded and then walked away without saying another word, leaving Madeline speechless and standing alone. Was this a common way for Americans to end their conversations? Walking away from people?

Madeline saw, however, that Gabe went to find Mr. Machin and speak with him. Rather than following, Madeline found Jamila and sat with her and Noëlle.

"Jamila said you know some people from Beauxbatons?" asked Noëlle happily.

"Oh, sure," said Madeline, who was happy to have the distraction. "Crispin Campbell and Andrew Biscoe?"

"You know Cris?" asked Noëlle, her eyes and mouth wide open. "He and I—well… Andrew was a year older, so I didn't know him very well. Once the girls heard he was in an arranged marriage, most of them stopped trying."

"He and my friend Elaine—the one he was engaged to—just got married back in November," said Madeline. "I saw them again at New Years. They're very happy."

"That's sweet! What of… Cris?"

"We studied together at St Andrews. He's headed to Paris for his final six months."

" _Oh, mon dieu_ ," said Noëlle, her eyes glazing over a bit. "That man is…"

"Hey, Madeline," said Gabe, who took a seat behind the women. He leaned forward a bit but was not looking to get burned. "Mr. Machin said you can start in my rotation tomorrow. That way you can meet my mentor, Mr. Anderson, who has been working with me on major bone re-transfigurations."

"Marvellous!" said Madeline happily. "Thank you. I look forward to it."

* * *

"Maddie, how was your first day in New York?" shouted Nicolas from the kitchen.

"I burned a man and met a lot of people," she replied.

"Wait—what?" cried Claire. "Come back here!"

Madeline walked back into the kitchen and saw Claire and Nicolas cooking together. Claire looked flabbergasted and Nicolas looked highly amused.

" _You did what_?" Claire cried again.

"Gave a man a pretty serious burn," said Madeline. "He touched me several times, even after I told him to never touch me again. So I burned him. Is Oliver back yet?"

Nicolas was laughing too hard to respond, but Claire shook her head.

"No, not yet. Oh— _Nick_ , stop having a fit of giggles and tend to the potatoes."

"Maddie burned a sexual harasser," he said, chuckling still. "I'm so proud of her!"

"Yeah, well, it did make a pretty serious first impression. I hope I don't have to do it again."

"You shouldn't have to," said Claire with her eyebrows up high.

The three of them ate dinner together, and Madeline told them about the Ilvermorny Houses and about the people she'd met.

When Oliver finally arrived, it was nearly 10 pm, and he ate hurriedly and then carried Madeline into their room.

* * *

Months went by in this fashion—both Madeline and Oliver worked to exhaustion during the week, attended Oliver's matches on Saturdays, and training with Lupin and Tonks on Sundays. Oliver was often gone until well into the night, much to his chagrin, and still rose early to swim, eat breakfast, and drink coffee with Madeline. They had such little time alone together that their physical, intimate relationship dwindled to the occasional snog while breakfast was cooking (if the others were gone) and snuggling close at the end of the day. Although Charlie believed otherwise, they were both usually too tired to do much except fall asleep. Stress, too, was fatiguing Madeline, for her new hospital was a hyper-competitive environment and many of the male Healers consistently implied sexual advances. It was exhausting.

After January, their training with Lupin and Tonks moved to the flat so that Oliver and Nicolas (and Charlie if he wasn't busy) could benefit from their knowledge. Although Lupin sometimes acted as though he felt out of place among the younger people, he was as kind as ever. Claire enjoyed sharing her food with them, and it made Madeline feel good to know that he would eat with them every week. Once a month, Madeline met with McGonagall to check her transfiguration progress, but she felt that she was moving too slowly.

"No," said McGonagall when they met in early March. She had already divulged everything about the second Triwizard Tournament task in weeks prior, and the news in the Daily Prophet kept them relatively up-to-date on the school's goings-on. Madeline had laughed when she had learned that Cho Chang had been Cedric's victim to rescue. She bet everyone had loved that. But McGonagall was insistent on Madeline's progress.

"No, you're not moving too slowly. This process took me several years. I've heard of some who have done it faster, but you will not gain such knowledge from me. I am pleased with your progress and your abilities, and I am certain that you will succeed if you let this training take its natural course."

"Alright," said Madeline. "Alright."

* * *

One Sunday night in late March after Lupin had departed, Tonks stayed around and shared some elderberry wine with them. Tonks enjoyed teasing Nicolas—it had become one of her shared interests with Claire and one of her favourite hobbies.

"This 'Margaret' must be an apparition," said Tonks. "I seriously doubt this woman even exists."

"She has been awfully absent these past few weeks," said Madeline. "I'm a little worried about her, actually."

"She's fine—I saw her yesterday," said Nicolas, who rolled his eyes. "And she doesn't feel the need to meet _you_."

"Ha! If only I could believe you," said Tonks. "She doesn't want me being able to turn into her—that's what it is. I could walk in here looking like Maddie and none of you would know the difference."

"I would," said Oliver thickly over a piece of strawberry tart Madeline had made (with Claire's assistance). It was the most confident statement Madeline had ever heard him make, and everyone turned to look at him with some level of surprise. Oliver finished chewing and swallowed. He rubbed his hands together to rid them of crumbs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I would know in ten minutes, easy."

"Don't challenge her," warned Claire. "Tonks _loves_ a challenge."

"I do, it's true. I've got it! Maddie," said Tonks, turning to her, "we could have everyone leave the room, and when they all return, have them guess who's the _real_ Madeline Palmer."

"That'd be hilarious," said Charlie, who had already started laughing.

"Are we betting on this or…?" asked Tonks.

"No bets. Just knowledge," said Oliver. "I know Maddie better than anyone."

Tonks' eyebrows shot up—she too was surprised by his confidence. It was unlike Oliver to be so… _cocky_. That was usually Nicolas' play.

They all filed into their respective rooms while Tonks modified herself, bit by bit, into Madeline's same shape, size, and appearance. It took her about seven minutes to get the clothes and everything just perfect, even down to the earlobes and fingernails. Madeline checked and nodded in approval, but her creased eyebrows showed her disbelief and confusion.

"This is _odd_ , to say the absolute least… is my nose really like that?"

"This'll be _so much bloody fun_ ," cried the Tonks-Madeline. "Call them out, go on!"

"We're done," cried Madeline. "Everyone come out now!"

"Remember, don't speak," said Tonks. "They'll know by my voice."

"Alright."

Claire, Oliver, Charlie, and Nicolas all came in and stared blankly at the two identical women. They had all had a few glasses of wine, and Madeline worked hard to maintain her composure. She knew this would be hilarious.

"This is bloody bizarre," said Nicolas. "I can't handle this."

"Can't handle the idea of two Madelines?" asked Claire, who laughed at Nicolas. "Oh, that's priceless, that is."

"This _is_ strange," said Charlie.

Oliver was quiet—he was studying the two women carefully. Both women stood tall (as tall as Madeline could be) and looked around, occasionally glancing at one another and smiling.

"What does your instinct tell you, mate?" asked Charlie. "I'm thinking the left."

Madeline couldn't help it—she barely kept down the laugh, and exhaled sharply through her nose. Tonks didn't copy her; instead, she bit down on her lip and _pretended_ to be trying to maintain her composure. It was _brilliant_. Madeline took a deep breath.

"Merlin, I dunno," said Nicolas. "Are you sure?"

"No, that was just my guess! It's 50-50, isn't it?" said Charlie.

"I suppose I thought I'd hear them talk," said Oliver. "I didn't think about it."

" _Didn't think about it_?" cried Nicolas. "What on earth were you expecting? To ask them questions only Madeline would know?"

Charlie laughed and clapped Oliver on the back.

"It's been five minutes. I'd turn up the charm if I were you," said Charlie.

Oliver nodded and approached the women, looking them square in the eyes. Madeline didn't know if she wanted Tonks to win, but she didn't want to just _give away_ her identity, so she tried to be completely blank-faced. It was truly difficult—if she hadn't been training with Tonks, it wouldn't have been possible at all.

When Oliver stared at Tonks, she forced her lips to twitch into a suppressed smile—something Madeline does regularly—and Oliver watched as she broke eye contact to look at her feet and then back up at him. Then he moved on to Madeline. She composed herself, looked up, and didn't look away—how could she? Oliver's maple eyes bore into hers, and Madeline felt her stomach turn. Could Oliver not feel her love pulling him closer? Could he not see in her eyes all that she felt for him? After what felt like an eternity, Oliver leaned down, hesitated the smallest second, and kissed the woman standing before him. She passionately reciprocated, jumping into his arms and grasping at his neck and hair.

"How did he know?!" cried Tonks. "I really thought I'd done well."

"I've no idea," said Claire. "I thought you were the right one! I was convinced he'd kissed the wrong Madeline until you said something just now."

"Well done, mate! You can stop snogging now!" cried Nicolas. "You picked the right Maddie."

"Oh, he's well aware of that," said Charlie, both shocked and amused. "They're in their own little world, aren't they?"

They were, indeed. And rather than succumbing to their friends' calls, Oliver carried Madeline into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"Well," said Tonks. "I have been defeated, I admit it. I wonder what gave it away?"

"Who knows with those two," said Claire, who rolled their eyes. "I hope they finally get on with it, though. Damn."

"What—didn't you see it?" asked Nicolas. He looked around to Claire. "You're supposed to be her best mate!"

"I _am_! Tonks mimicked her facial expressions perfectly!" cried Claire.

"Nick, what was the tell?" asked Tonks. "I obviously need to improve my Madeline impersonation."

"Claire was right—you did have her facial expressions down pat. But it was the slightest error on your part. You see, you glanced down. Madeline didn't."

"You're _joking_ ," said Charlie with exasperation. "I saw that too! How in Merlin's blazing bollocks could _that_ have been the tell?"

"Obviously you lot have never been in love," said Nicolas imperiously. Tonks rolled her eyes. "Madeline didn't look away because she adores Oliver's eyes. They probably could have stared at each other forever. I would've chosen her too after seeing that. I thought you of all people would have seen that."

Claire didn't respond to Nicolas' pointed reference to her gooey relationship with Richard. She sat, and Tonks, who had grown quiet and contemplative, joined her.

"Didn't you date Madeline at one point?" asked Charlie. "I was surprised to hear that she was with Oliver when I saw her at the World Cup."

"Yes. I didn't work out, for reasons you've just witnessed."

"Ah," said Charlie.

Claire's eyes, which had grown dark, met Nicolas' and his eyebrows creased with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"What?" he asked.

"You really just compared your relationships with Maddie and Margo to what I had with Richard," she said, looking both angry and confused. Perhaps she didn't understand why she was upset. Her eyes looked wet.

"All I meant was that you—"

"How dare _you_ accuse others of never having been in love!"

"You _know_ it was a joke, Claire," said Nicolas firmly, both of his arms reached out towards her like he wanted to shake her.

Tonks stood and placed her hand on Nicolas' shoulder before he could speak. What the others didn't realise is that she had nonverbally silenced him.

"We've all had too much wine. Follow me, lad," she said, and they walked away onto the balcony.

Claire sat fuming while Charlie stood idly nearby, looking down as his hands. They were silent for several tense minutes; Charlie could only guess at why Claire was upset, and Claire had no idea that Charlie was worried about their relationship.

"Do I make you happy?" he asked eventually.

"Yes," she said, her face crumpling and her eyes filling and spilling over with tears. Charlie came and sat next to her.

"So why are you crying?"

"Because he makes me so _bloody angry_ with his assumptions and his references to Richard and his—he's _still_ got feelings for Maddie. _Still_. It's been _over a year_ , and it's _still_ there. As though he'll never be quite right because she chose Oliver over him. And that _guts_ me. I want him to be happy with Margaret and she's never around and it's just... ARGH."

"D'you think we can fully let go of the people we've loved?" asked Charlie.

"I dunno," said Claire. "I'm glad I'm _not_ with Richard and I don't miss him now, but he was my _whole life_ for nearly years. I know that doesn't just go away, but Nick and Maddie only dated for a few months."

"But he'd had feelings for her for much longer. I remember, especially in my seventh year, seeing them together at the Gryffindor table at meals and thinking that he always looked half in love with her."

"With his best mate's best mate," said Claire. " _That_ makes sense."

"I'm sure he only thought of her as Maddie, as you do. As the one who kept him more honest, kept him motivated in school, kept him inspired to do well."

Claire didn't have anything to say, so she remained silent. He was right—Nicolas had always been motivated by Madeline. What was motivating him now?

"You think he really loves Margaret?"

"I want to believe he does," said Claire.

"You see them growing old together? Having children and grandchildren?"

"They're a good match… in theory," she said. "On paper."

"Yet something's missing?"

"Some days it's there, but some days it's not. It's odd, and I don't understand it. It's like they're both waiting for the other to transform into the person they're supposed to be, or something. I dunno, Charlie. We don't have to keep talking about it. It shouldn't be our place to judge other relationships. It just bothered me—what Nick said about not having been in love. Because I have and it destroyed me."

"You're still here. You are far from destroyed."

"Part of me, sure. But Richard will always have a part of me with him."

"I don't like you thinking of yourself as broken. I think _you_ are perfectly whole and beautiful. The emotions and memories associated with that bloke will lose their edge over time, and you'll _feel_ whole again. But you're whole _now_. You don't need someone else to make you _you_."

This seemed to resonate with Claire, and the pair sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So… you're saying that Madeline could still be Madeline without Oliver?"

"Mmm, not quite. I'm saying they're each a whole person independent of each other. I think the reason other people make us feel whole is because we're always hoping to find someone who understands us, so once we find _that_ , we _feel_ more complete. They… _really_ understand one another."

"Do I make you feel complete?"

"Yes," said Charlie. "Immensely. Will you stay with me again this weekend?"

"Of course," said Claire. "Until Sunday."

They shared a long kiss, completely unaware that Tonks and Nicolas were still out on the balcony having a similar conversation. When they retreated to her room, the other two came inside.

"You're alright," said Tonks to Nicolas as they walked in. "The Auror training will be alright, and you'll do well."

"I don't want to follow your advice."

"You don't have to."

"That bloke you were dating in London—he was a Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Tonks with a solemn nod. "I knew I shouldn't have let it go on like it did, but… some things just aren't reasonable, are they?"

"No, sometimes the heart defies reason," he replied.

"My heart always seems to do that," said Tonks with a yawn. "We've all had too much wine."

"Tonks—I want to ask you a question, but I don't want to offend you."

"Go for it."

"D'you have feelings for me?"

She laughed and didn't stop for some time.

"Yeah, alright, don't laugh your trousers off."

"Nicolas Tennant, what on earth could you want with me?"

"I don't—I don't _want_ anything, you just seemed particularly attached to me, so I wanted to get it out in the open. I don't have feelings for you."

"That's alright. You're not my type," she said evenly.

"Nonsense. I'm everyone's type," said Nicolas with a crooked smirk.

"Yeah—see—that? Nope. Not my type. I need... _humility_ in a man. This attachment you perceive is nothing more than a mentorship. Our relationship gets complicated by my being a woman and being older than you."

" _You're_ mentoring _me_?"

"Aren't I?"

Nicolas thought about it for a few minutes. She _had_ , in fact, already given him loads of advice and methods to better survive Auror training. And she always had positive and constructive feedback for him.

"I suppose you are."

"Listen, mate, I know what you're going through. Keep focused on the training, and other things will fall into place."

"You're sure?"

" _Yes_ ," said Tonks. "And I won't stop teasing you. It's part of my mentorship program."

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Lakeside**

" _Stop_!" cried Madeline, her voice hysterical. " _Stop it, both of you_! _You're best mates_!"

"What's going on?" cried Tonks immediately. She ran over and stood between the two men.


	15. Lakeside

**Chapter 15: Lakeside**

"Imagination is a good servant and a bad master. The simplest explanation is always the most likely."  
 _-_ Agatha Christie

* * *

From that night on, Tonks grew visibly closer to Nicolas than the others, which surprised everyone. When pressed about it, they both told the same story:

"She's helpful as an Auror," Nicolas would say. "We're just mates."

"He needs guidance to survive Auror training," Tonks would say. "Plus, he's too young and pompous."

This story, similar though it was on both sides, did not stop their friends from conjecturing a different type of mentorship. Madeline didn't buy into Claire and Oliver's conjectures, mostly because she trusted Nicolas and Tonks to be honest with her.

Margaret, who was absent more than ever, seemed to be sliding out of their group's picture completely, until one Sunday evening in April, when she appeared in a black cocktail dress and immediately began stomping around the flat.

" _I—bloody—hate—people_!" she cried, flipping her long black hair over to one side. She didn't look over into the sitting room where everyone had gathered.

Madeline and Nicolas both stood, and when they made eye contact, Nicolas nodded. Madeline sat as he walked towards his bedroom, where she had gone.

"You alright, Margo?" he called. "We have company."

"Company?" she cried, horrified. She skillfully jogged into the room still wearing her heels and looked out at Lupin and Tonks.

"Hi," she said with a weak wave and a frown.

"Where've you been?" asked Nicolas, his voice the tone of concern. He sounded as though he had truly missed her.

"With my family—"

" _Bullocks_ ," he whispered loudly. "That's what you always say."

"Because it's _true_ ," she said with her fists clenched. "Can we _not_ do this right now? As you said, you've company."

"Fine."

"Fine," she said, and clacked her way back into his room.

Lupin began speaking about their next phase of training as Nicolas rejoined them and sat silently next to Tonks, who placed her hand on his forearm in a tender, sympathetic way. Although Madeline believed nothing was happening between them, it did look rather suspicious for them to engage in physical contact.

"Dueling?" asked Claire. "Really?"

Madeline hadn't been listening and realised that she missed what Lupin had said.

"Well, we didn't quite agree," said Lupin, looking sideways at Tonks.

"No, we didn't. I don't think you lot are at all ready."

"But we've all done so well!" cried Nicolas.

"Dueling is serious work, and it can be very dangerous. I personally didn't want to introduce it at all, but Lupin said you were desperate for it."

"What are we paying you for, anyway?" asked Charlie, and everyone laughed.

"All I'm saying is that if you want my help, we're going to do it my way, and it's going to be a slow and difficult process. I want you all aptly prepared before we begin doing anything really dangerous, and Madeline must be at all dueling sessions or we won't meet."

"Me? Why me?" asked Madeline, her eyebrows pressed together.

Tonks laughed in her bright, happy way, and the others joined her, even Lupin.

"I believe Tonks meant to say that the professional Healer should be with us during all dangerous sessions," said Lupin mildly. "If things go awry."

Madeline covered her face with her hands and laughed in embarrassment, and Oliver put his arm around her and tried to kiss her face.

"It's been a long week, yeah?" he asked, and she nodded, her face red.

"The Americans have a very different concept of resting," Madeline explained, shaking her head. "I'm convinced the whole lot of them don't sleep at all. I'm alright, I promise."

"That and some American bloke won't stop coming onto her," said Claire tersely.

"Claire," said Madeline, "that's beside the—"

"What a prick!" cried Tonks. "Have you reported his behavior?"

"To who?" asked Madeline. "He's my supervisor."

"Who's _his_ supervisor?"

"I dunno," said Madeline. "It's not that bad. He's just… more attentive to me than I find comfortable."

"That's called _harassment_ , Madeline Palmer," said Tonks sternly. "We will continue this conversation after tonight's lesson, because that's not acceptable behavior for supervisors. I will teach the both of you my ways of intimidation before this month's over."

"Me?" cried Claire. "I can defend myself just fine, thanks."

"You told me that most of your male bosses have come onto you," said Madeline.

"Yes, and it stopped months ago," said Claire. "I put an end to it."

"The both of you're too attractive for your own good," said Nicolas lazily. "We all knew that. Maddie, all you have to do is bring Oliver to a shift and snog him in front of the bloke and he'll leave you alone."

"Stop— _stop_ —you've _no idea_ what you're saying," cried Tonks, who waved her arms so violently that she nearly hit Nicolas _and_ Lupin in the face. "Oliver making a display of _possession_ of Madeline isn't going to cure this man of his warped hypermasculinity. Madeline _has to be_ the one to show strength of character and put an end to it, and if she does it properly, she might be able to prevent him from sexually harassing other young women. No—don't you argue with me, Nick. It doesn't matter if she's _married or single_. If it's unwanted, it's _unwanted_."

At this, everyone was silent. Madeline covered her lips with her right hand, mostly because she was covering a smile—Tonks had glared and spoken Nicolas Tennant into submission, and it was a beautiful thing to see, at least to Madeline.

Nicolas mouthed the words "warped hypermasculinity" with his eyes wide, at which Claire laughed.

"Power dynamics are _always_ at work, in all relationships," said Claire. "Even without sexual harassment. In this case in particular, Madeline has very little power to disrupt the cycle of harassment."

"What d'you mean 'always at work,'?" asked Nicolas with his eyes narrowed.

Tonks stood and stretched.

"Claire's right, and I'll explain it to you later. You've all worked me into a tizzy, and all I wanted was to have a nice, simple dueling session."

"So what does 'your way' entail, exactly?" asked Nicolas.

My way involves loads of drills. Timing, accuracy, speed, evasion—I learned by being drilled on each of those skills until they bled together and created expertise. Lupin and I have discussed some drills that we think would be ideal for you lot. Tonight, I would like to introduce an evasion drill. The focus will be on _avoiding_ hits. I thought we might start here because this is probably the skill that indicates a natural predilection for fight or flight, and it will also give us an indication of your strengths and weaknesses. Charlie… Oliver… you are both welcome to sit these out. They won't be fun, and I know you both have physically demanding occupations as is."

"I'm in," said Oliver. "I want to try it, even if I'm rubbish."

"I'm in as well," said Charlie.

"With your natural Quidditch skills, this particular drill should play to your strengths. I suspect Claire and Nicolas will have the most difficulty, actually."

"I appreciate the confidence," said Claire dryly.

"Sorry," said Tonks, "but they're used to evasion. I just don't think it will come as naturally to you at this particular moment in time as it will for the ones who've played Quidditch their whole lives."

"Fair enough," said Nicolas. Claire tossed him a miffed glare but he shrugged it off.

"If it's alright, we'll have Madeline go first in case anyone needs medical attention," said Lupin. "We'll call you in one-by-one for the drill."

Lupin and Tonks then walked into the empty spare bedroom, leaving them all sitting in the cozy gathering area. Madeline stood, picked up her wand from the nearby table, and waited for them to call her in. Claire stood too and began pacing, only the men remained seated.

"What d'you think she meant by 'medical attention'," asked Nicolas, looking at Oliver. "What could they possibly have us avoiding?"

"Bludgers, maybe?" suggested Oliver. "I dunno, mate."

"It'll be a spell of some sort," said Claire with confidence. "I'm sure Tonks will take aim and fire at us and we'll be timed on how long we can remain without being hit."

"That's how I imagined it, too," said Madeline.

"Madeline," said Lupin, calling from the bedroom.

"Well," she said, "I'll let you know soon."

"Good luck, Maddie," said Nicolas as she walked toward the spare bedroom.

When she entered the room, she saw that it had been magically expanded and that there were ten, small, red-and-white triangular targets slithering across the opposite wall. The lights had been dimmed, and although the targets were visible, she couldn't see Lupin or Tonks. There was one barrel in the middle of the room, which she assumed was for her to hide behind.

"Alright Madeline," said Lupin's voice, "your objective is simple: stun all the targets without getting hit. We will be timing you."

 _Right_ , thought Madeline, _sounds simple enough, but I know it's not. Concentrate_.

Then she heard a buzzer beep three times, and Madeline knew she should begin. She stunned one target and then, from the left, she saw a light flying her way. She dropped to her hands and knees and rolled to evade the second spell, which then came from the right. In the pause, which she had not been expecting, she stunned a second target. Then there were three more shots hurtling towards her, and she ducked, dropped, and rolled to continue evading. She made her way to the barrel, which allowed her to stun her third and fourth triangular target. On her next shot, when she attempted to stun the fifth target, she was hit with a stinging hex on her right arm, just above her elbow. Madeline stifled a shout and took a moment to think about her options.

She wouldn't fare better by rolling around and waiting for an opening in the fire, would she? Surely the barrel was the safest place for her?

She rose to take aim again, and had to duck to avoid another shot. Was the barrel was acting like a target for her? Could they narrow their aim and just wait for her to pop up? Maybe she would fare better in the dimmer parts of the room. Before moving again, she tried to remember the targets she had already hit, for they were no longer moving. She had six targets left. Although they weren't moving very quickly, she would need to get a steady aim at them to succeed.

Madeline took a deep breath and decided what she could do—she could transfigure the barrel to look like her. In the dim light, it wouldn't need to be perfect, but it would take some time and it would leave her without a place to hide. These thoughts all flashed through her mind like quicksilver. Then she steeled herself and decided to just do her best—they were just stinging hexes, and she would be alright after all.

Madeline then rolled out to her left, stayed low, stunned her fifth and six targets, evaded three shots coming from different directions, stunned the seventh, and rolled back to the barrel. When she caught her breath, she repeated the process, gaining her eighth target. On the next try, she stunned the last two and ducked to miss the last two stinging hexes.

Then the lights came up, Lupin stopped his timer, and Tonks cheered.

"Well done, Maddie! Only one hit!" said Tonks. "Go out and fetch Claire, but don't tell them what they're up against. It needs to be a fair surprise."

"Alright," said Madeline. She healed her elbow—reducing the swelling and the pain—before returning to the others. Out in the common space, everyone stood when she exited the spare bedroom.

"Maddie, that took _ages_ —are you alright?" asked Claire.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I just… took my time, I suppose. You're up next, Claire."

Claire nodded in return, glanced around briefly, and then walked to the bedroom. Once Claire had shut the door, the men rounded on Madeline.

"How was it?" asked Charlie.

"It was alright," she said.

" _Alright_?" asked Nicolas. "Can't get any more detailed than that, can we?"

"No, I'm afraid not," said Madeline with a coy smile. "Knowing the details wouldn't be fair, now would it?"

"I suppose not," said Nicolas.

"Besides, it wasn't all that bad," said Madeline.

"That's a relief," said Charlie. "I'm exhausted as is."

Nicolas turned and seemed like he was about to say something cheeky, but Madeline caught his eyes and made a " _don't you dare_ " expression that stopped him. He rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the sofa. Madeline was reminded of their brief conversation and wanted to offer Nicolas an example.

"By the way," said Madeline, looking at Nicolas, "relationships _are_ dependent on power."

"Maddie, I don't need you, of all people, to explain—"

"Explain _wha_ t?" she asked. "Why you broke up with me?"

"I know damn well why _I_ ended _our relationship,_ " said Nicolas. "We don't need to go through it again, I assure you."

"Alright," said Madeline peaceably. She sat back onto the sofa and closed her eyes. The men were silent for some time, and Madeline thought about how Claire might be faring with the evasion drill.

She heard someone—either Charlie or Nicolas, as Oliver was next to her—stand and walk into the kitchen. She opened her eyes to see Nicolas pouring himself a shot of scotch.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"Dulling my fucking senses," said Nicolas.

Oliver and Madeline made eye contact for a brief moment, and when she retreated from his gaze, he stood and joined him in the kitchen. While Oliver was taking a shot, Claire exited the bedroom, and she was covered in sting marks. Oliver nearly choked on his scotch, and Madeline rushed over to her.

"What'd'you do?" Madeline cried, looking horrified.

"How did you escape unscathed?" Claire cried in return. "That was awful!"

"I—it's as I said, I took my time—"

"Help me!" she cried, and Madeline raised her wand and began reducing the swelling and easing the pain. Claire collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs, and while Madeline healed her, the men looked on in horror.

"Not that _bad_ , _eh_?" asked Charlie, who looked angry.

"You're next, Nick," said Claire through clenched teeth. "GO—NOW."

"Bloody hell," mumbled Nicolas as he strolled to the bedroom. Madeline poured Claire some water and let her drink it while the swelling continued to reduce.

"Did you not get hit at all?" asked Claire.

"I can't… we're not to say until they've all gone," said Madeline.

Soon after, Nicolas exited looking as though he had fewer stings than Claire but still several more than Madeline. She counted eight on Nicolas and twelve on Claire. Oliver was next, and he returned with six stings. Finally, Charlie went to face the drill, and Nicolas damn near exploded after he was gone.

"I can't believe you're both _willingly_ going through with this!" cried Nicolas to Oliver. "As if _he_ fucking needs the training!"

"Why're you in such a temper?" asked Oliver. "I haven't seen you like this in ages."

"Because we're all stung to bits—except perfect fucking Maddie who never does any wrong!"

At this, Oliver stood and he and Nicolas glared at each other for several pregnant moments.

"Shut it," said Oliver, his eyes dark and voice low.

"Nick," said Madeline, "I'm _sorry_ , alright? I shouldn't have said—"

"It's not your fault that he can't keep his temper in check," said Oliver to Madeline, a bit more harshly than he probably intended. "I'm bloody tired of you blaming yourself for others' behavior!"

At this, Madeline's face grew steely, and she sat back down.

" _How dare you_ raise your voice at her like that," said Claire. "Oliver Wood—I've _never_ —"

"For once, Claire, stay the _fuck_ out of our business," said Oliver.

The shock didn't register on Claire's face until Nicolas had raised his wand and was pointing it at Oliver, who matched him. It was then that Charlie, Tonks, and Lupin exited the spare bedroom.

" _Stop_!" cried Madeline, her voice hysterical. " _Stop it, both of you_! _You're best mates_!"

"What's going on!?" said Tonks immediately. She ran over and stood between the two men.

"Nick's insulted Maddie and pissed me off," said Oliver.

"I called her _perfect_ , you dolt," said Nicolas. "She's the only one who didn't get stung to pieces."

"I got hit once," said Madeline.

" _Brilliant_ ," said Claire bitingly. " _Once_."

Though Madeline registered the insulting tone, she said nothing in return. She had long ago learned not to rise to their anger.

"You're all acting like children," said Tonks. "Mummy and daddy were gone for what—three quarters of an hour? And you start having a row?"

Nicolas opened his mouth to speak, but Tonks turned on him and raised her wand.

" _Shut it_ ," she said. "I don't want to hear another bloody word from any of you. Sit your arses down and listen to what I have to say."

They all sat, and Lupin, who lingered behind Tonks, said nothing.

"You've all performed—and _acted—abysmally_. I can't even fully express my disappointment. You're right, Nick—Madeline did well, she only got hit once. It also took her twice as long, and in that time, she probably would've been obliterated behind the barrel where she was _gathering the wits_ the rest of you _seemed to have lost_."

Tonks then turned to Lupin, who was dutifully and quietly standing behind her.

"Is there anything you'd like to add? I'm afraid I'll say something I'll regret."

At this, Lupin seemed to fight a smile, but he stepped forward and it disappeared.

"If those hadn't been stinging hexes, you would all be dead," he said in his hoarse voice.

"Yes! _Thank you_. That's exactly... yes," muttered Tonks.

"You all seemed a bit... _vexed_ this evening, so I won't belabour the point, but if you—all of you—are meaning to take this seriously, then I suggest you keep your heads _and hearts_ clear next Sunday. If I walk in on another fight again, I won't come back."

The disappointment in Lupin's voice seemed to affect everyone, including Tonks, who closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"We will be working on evading again next week, _if_ you're all up to it. If not…"

Tonks shrugged, glanced at Lupin, and disapparated. Lupin nodded and followed suit, and the apartment was left in an awkward silence.

Charlie was the first to stand and say something, and he merely mumbled something about "getting home" and disapparated as well.

Madeline, who had been sitting with her face in her hands, released the sob she had been choking back, and she let the tears follow. She couldn't handle all the disappointment, all the fighting, all the tension. What was happening to them?

"Maddie?"

It was Claire's voice, and she sounded remorseful, which Madeline was surprised to hear. She looked up to see Nicolas still fuming, his arms crossed over his chest, and Oliver leaning against the wall with his face covered with his hands. She was surprised that Margaret hadn't heard them and joined the row, but she was relieved that she hadn't. And then, Madeline was suddenly and absolutely exhausted.

"I… I love all of you, but I'm turning in," said Madeline, her voice wavering.

Once Madeline had disappeared, Claire stood and glared at Oliver.

"I've _never_ heard you speak to her that way," said Claire. " _Or_ to me. Have I offended you in some way? Have I hurt you? How dare you go on about Nick losing his temper and then say what you did to us?!"

"Claire," said Nicolas, who stood and approached her. "We all lost it. He didn't mean anything by it—"

" _Didn't mean anything by it_ ," said Claire, nodding mockingly as she tore her elbow away from Nicolas' hand. "You want me to stay out of your relationship, is that it? Stop addling poor Maddie's pure, innocent soul? _Is that it_?!"

Oliver said nothing, and Claire felt she had struck the core of it.

"You've both been acting like your relationship is so bloody _pure_ and _perfect_ , when we all know—"

"I've _never_ said that," said Oliver with clenched jaw.

"You never had to!" cried Claire. "D'you wonder why Margaret isn't ever here? It's probably because she can't stand to see the two of you acting like you've got it all fucking worked out! It's bloody sickening to see you two ogling each other all the fucking time!"

At this, Nicolas laughed hard and bitter.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" she cried.

"You!" he said, laughing. " _You_ —because you're finally getting a taste of how insufferable it was to be around you and Richard all those years. Yeah, bloody insufferable, I said it!"

Claire's jaw clenched, and she glared at Nicolas as though he had spit at her.

"You're finally on the receiving end… it hurts to see them happy, doesn't it?"

"That's not what I said," mumbled Claire.

" _You didn't have to_ ," said Nicolas, mocking her phrase.

"I'm sorry," said Oliver, taking advantage of the pause. "To both of you. Claire, I don't want to keep you from Madeline, but it is _beyond_ irritating to hear her parroting your 'here's how to shag' talk all the time. You _all_ think you're bloody _experts_. Here's a tip: your _advice_ —meaning both of you, actually— _isn't helpful_. It's not relevant to us and our journey together. So I don't want to hear _either_ of you talking about our sexual activity unless one of us brings it up."

"Alright," said Claire with a determined nod. "I'll let her fly blind."

"She knows what she's doing," said Oliver. "Even if she doesn't realise it."

"Neither of us _really_ need to hear about how naturally talented Maddie is in bed," said Nicolas with a grimace. "Not really at all."

"Seconded," said Claire.

Oliver rolled his eyes and crossed the room to his bedroom, where Madeline would be either lying in bed crying or getting ready to shower. He wasn't sure which. He looked back at the pair behind him.

"None of us are perfect," said Oliver. "Including Maddie. Including our relationship. I have no delusions about that. Some days it works really well and others it doesn't. It's like Charlie said… you either make it work or you don't. And we don't need friends who don't want us to succeed."

And with that, Oliver entered his room and closed the door behind him. Claire sighed, plopped onto the sofa, and closed her eyes in defeat.

"Is that what we are?" she asked eventually. "Friends who don't want them to succeed?"

"No," said Nicolas as he crossed the room and sat next to her. "Not usually, anyway."

"I can't believe Charlie just disappeared like that," said Claire. "I would've liked to talk to him."

"He'll be alright," said Nicolas. His head was leaning back and his eyes were closed.

"I'm not worried about him, I'm worried about... I dunno."

"What's the matter?"

Claire was silent for a while, even when Nicolas opened his eyes, sat up, and tried to meet her eyes.

"Claire?"

"You don't like Charlie very much, do you?" Claire asked, her voice small and tired. She had been suspecting this for some time, and she suddenly felt the need to ask him about it.

"I've never liked him very much, remember? More so at school than now," said Nicolas. "Why d'you ask?"

"Do you think he wants me to be like his mum? To raise a huge family and resign myself to being a housewife and mother?"

"I dunno, but... I suppose you should ask him rather than me."

Claire said nothing, and Nicolas' suspicions were confirmed.

"Is that what _you_ think?"

"I dunno what I think anymore," said Claire. "I really don't."

* * *

The next morning, Claire awoke with a plan. She had slept hard, and by the time she had finished showering and dressing, she went out into the common area to see if Augustus was available. Oliver and Nicolas were in the kitchen, and Augustus was perched next to the window looking at her expectantly.

"Oliver, may I use Augustus? I'm not going to work today," said Claire.

"Er—sure," said Oliver. "Are you alright?"

"Why aren't you going to work?" asked Nicolas. Always the snoop.

"I'm going to visit Maddie. She's already gone, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she left around 4:30. Early shift this morning."

"You're going to New York? Don't you recall who else lives in New York?" asked Nicolas. Claire rolled her eyes.

" _Yes_ , _Nick_ , _I recall_ ," said Claire as she began writing the letter to her office. "And if he ends up at the hospital, that's brilliant, because that's where he'll stay when I'm through with him."

Oliver and Nicolas knew this was exaggerated talk from Claire, but they said nothing anyway. After Claire had sent Augustus off with her letter, Nicolas offered her breakfast, which she thankfully accepted.

"Well, if you happen to see the man who's been harassing Maddie, give him a nice right hook for me," said Oliver, who Claire had found watching Muggle boxing on the television the week prior. He imitated a boxing punch in mid-air, and it was precious.

"Sure," said Claire with a smile.

"Where's Charlie?" asked Oliver.

"Probably at work," said Claire with a shrug.

"Oh," said Oliver. "Right."

"D'you know how I can get to Maddie's hospital?"

"She left me instructions somewhere," said Oliver as he nodded. "I'll go find them."

Once Oliver had returned with the instructions to find Madeline in the event of emergencies, Claire used the Floo to travel to Madeline's hospital, where she immediately felt small and lost. The sky above the atrium was black as night, and she instantly wondered what time it was. She walked to the large, central information booth and a young man greeted her happily.

"I'm looking for Madeline Palmer," said Claire. "I need to see her immediately."

"What's the nature of your relationship with Miss Palmer? Is there an emergency?" asked the young man. Claire was momentarily taken aback by his American accent, and it took a moment for her to properly respond to his questions.

"Er... I'm her best friend and roommate, and I just really need to talk to her," said Claire.

"OK, let me check my records," said the young man. "While you wait, here's a map."

The young man handed Claire a map that she poured over while he searched through stacks of records.

"It appears that the intern named Madeline Palmer is stationed on the 7th floor and is working with Mr. Anderson. You should be able to find her there."

"Alright, thanks," said Claire.

She turned and made her way to the lifts without any trouble, and finding the seventh floor was equally easy. Once at the seventh floor, however, Claire paused and looked around. She followed the corridor to the left and then to the right, looking down at the map and hoping she was walking towards the correct desk. As she walked, she briefly looked up. There was an occasional Healer—or intern, as she didn't know the difference—walking in and out of different doors, each wearing comfortable-looking scrubs and seemingly hurried. As she was about to turn a corner, Claire checked her map again, and ended up colliding into something sturdy.

* * *

Gabriel was not happy. He worked his first "full" shift and should have been thrilled—it was eventful and passed quickly, and Mr. Anderson was pleased with his work—but because Palmer had been scheduled for a different shift, he had worked through the night with Bradley instead, which was never ideal.

He was also angry at himself. Madeline Palmer _was_ a gifted and hardworking Healer, and she had already earned a shift in the EU. Being stuck with Bradley wasn't as bad as knowing that Palmer had outpaced and outperformed him. He kicked the wall in the nearly empty locker rooms and dressed in his street clothes, including a comfy scarf. He needed to walk around outside for a bit. There was evidently a lot he didn't yet know, both about life and about being a Healer.

"You OK, dude?" Bradley asked as Gabriel stood to leave. "That shift was brutal."

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks," said Gabriel. "Have a good night. Day. Whatever."

"Yeah, you too."

He left the lockers on the eighth floor and hurried down to the seventh floor, where he checked the main schedule for his next shift. He was super hungry and eager to get out and face the chilly, early-morning gusts of the city. He'd needed a wake-up-call, and that's what he got. Despite his and his American colleagues' efforts, it was likely that Palmer would advance faster than their entire group because she was _kind_. She was smart and dedicated to her work, too, but the patients apparently didn't care about that. She had a way of connecting to people—the patients, specifically—that he didn't understand. It was maddening, and Mrs. Turner _adored_ her.

After discovering that he had less than 24 hours before his next shift, Gabriel strode purposefully towards the elevators; and, before he could stop himself, he barreled into a young, blonde woman who had sharply turned the corner without paying attention. They collided, her map crumbled between them, his shoulder bag spilled off his shoulder, and they both fell onto their sides. Gabriel had tried to catch her and cushion her fall, but she had recoiled in a way that had made it impossible for him to catch her.

* * *

Claire looked up from her side, and it was a man, of course—that would be her luck. She should have been paying better attention to her surroundings.

"Sorry, sorry," he said as he sat up. Claire felt the pain in her arm flash and linger in her elbow.

" _Bloody hell_ ," she cried, grasping at her elbow. "Sorry—"

"Are you OK?" he asked. They were both sitting up now.

"It's my elbow—"

"Here, let me see it."

The random man held her left arm in his hands, pushed her sleeve up, and held his wand up to her elbow. It was something Madeline would do—like he was inspecting her arm—and that was when she took in some of the details of his appearance.

Like Margaret, Claire had always had a soft spot for roguishly attractive men—Richard had always been her standard for everything, including looks. And before her sat a man who rivaled Richard, Nicolas, and Seti—three of the more attractive men she knew. While she loved Oliver as dearly as a brother, she could never think his broad face and burly figure were handsome. And yet… she was intimately, romantically involved with Charlie, who was Oliver's equal in size, appearance, and demeanor.

No. The man before her was tall, had soft-looking chestnut-brown hair, and had a fine square jaw. His lips weren't nearly as thin as Richard's had been, but they weren't as full as Charlie's, and his nose was straight with a bit of a square tip. His eyes appeared to be green, but she wasn't yet sure. His jawline was covered in a stubble that looked to be only a few days old, and he looked quite tired. She needed to know more.

"You're a Healer, then?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just got off an extended overnight shift," he replied. He glanced up at her, held her gaze for a few moments, and then released her arm. "Everything's fine structurally. You'll be OK. Sorry about that, though. I can ease the pain if it hurts really bad."

"I'm sure I'll live," she said, standing and picking up her map. If nothing was wrong, Claire wouldn't complain. She could always have Madeline check it again later. Claire knew that if he were truly in a hurry, he would dash off—but the man didn't walk away, giving Claire an unexpected thrill.

"Are you lost? Or looking for a specific room? The least I can do is help you find your way," he said, his American accent sounding foreign and exciting in her ears. She thought of Charlie briefly and then chastised herself—she wasn't doing anything wrong. She was talking to an attractive American man, that was all. She was here for a reason anyway.

"Er, well… I'm looking for Madeline Palmer. D'you know her? She's supposed to be somewhere on this floor, according to the bloke downstairs."

"Palmer? Of course. But she's in the EU today, not up here."

"Does that mean she's inaccessible?" asked Claire with a slight pout.

"Yeah, probably," he replied with a nod. "I'm Gabriel, by the way. Most people call me Gabe."

He offered his hand, and Claire felt her lips pulling back into a smile. She met his hand with her own and tried to ignore the thrill it ignited. His hands weren't rough like Charlie's, but Claire wasn't disappointed by this.

"Claire Denson," she replied, noting that his eyes were more greyish-brown than green. It was an interesting colour, and she liked that his eyes had depth. "Madeline's my best mate."

"Why d'you need to see her? Is something wrong?"

"We had a bit of a row last night—me, her boyfriend, our other roommate and I—and I just… I need to talk to her."

"So her boyfriend _is_ real?" asked Gabriel with a laugh. Claire laughed too.

"Who, Oliver? 'Course he's real. D'you think Madeline Palmer is a _liar_?"

"No, I don't—but there are guys here who find it easier to believe that she's single."

"You're not the one harassing her, I suppose? If you were, I'd have to hex you to oblivion," said Claire, who was suddenly feeling defensive. If it was him, she'd never forgive herself for being attracted to him.

"No—that's Josh and a few others. I can take you to them, if you'd like," said Gabriel.

"Gabriel," said Claire, narrowing her eyes. Hearing his name in her voice made her shiver again. "I hope you're not lying to me."

"I swear I'm not. I do _not_ hit on the women with whom I work, nor do I find Madeline Palmer attractive. She's too short and too much of a goody-two-shoes."

At this, Claire laughed and shook her head. "Goody-two-shoes" was an odd phrase, but she thought she knew what he meant.

" _You_ , though, are... well..."

"Don't," said Claire, who held up her hand to stop him. The next moment, though, and she wished she hadn't interrupted him. Another shiver. A deep breath. "Please. I need to find Maddie."

"She's on the fourth floor. I can take you there," he said, his expression serious.

"You sure?"

"'Course. I was on my way out, anyway," said Gabriel.

"Well, thank you, Gabriel."

"You can call me Gabe. Most people do."

"I think I prefer Gabriel, if that's alright," said Claire with a sweet smile.

"Sure. Come on, I'll take you to the fourth floor," said Gabriel. Claire watched as he resituated his bag on his shoulder and made his way towards the lifts. She kept up with his long strides with ease.

"So, Gabriel, how long have you been a Healer?"

"Well, I'm in my internship now. I was training for six months and once I complete the internship, I will be certified to practice elsewhere."

"Oh, like Maddie, then. I supposed you were older than us."

"I suppose not," he said, smiling. "Were you at Hogwarts with Palmer?"

"Yes."

"Was there a House with clever, smart people? I feel like Palmer would be in that House."

"She wasn't, actually. That was my House," said Claire with a chuckle.

"So you're the clever friend?"

"I suppose so. I think it's more about what you value, though, isn't it? Madeline prefers loyalty and honesty, so she was a Hufflepuff—that's the House who would take everyone, you know? I value intelligence, so I was a Ravenclaw. At least that's how I like to think of it."

"That makes sense. I was in the clever-people House at Ilvermorny, the Horned Serpents, and I never felt like it made me smarter," said Gabriel without smiling. "Most of my Housemates were horrible snobs."

Claire sighed. She understood that well enough.

"Sound familiar?" he asked, and Claire nodded.

They were nearing the lifts when he spoke again.

"Has Palmer always been a morally upstanding perfectionist?" he asked, glancing sideways at Claire. Claire felt a stream of laughter bubble up out of her chest.

"That's my best mate you're describing," said Claire, who had to work hard to control her laughter. "Better watch your tongue, Gabriel."

"Watch my tongue?" he asked, stopping at the lift and meeting her eyes. "Or what, Claire Denson?"

"Or I'll… well, I suppose I'd never see you again," said Claire. She sighed and looked away.

"That would be terrible, wouldn't it?" he asked quietly. Another twinge, this time in her lower back. His voice—and gaze—was doing odd things to her, and she felt her face flushing.

Claire met his taupe eyes and wished she hadn't. He looked at her like Richard used to look at her—an amalgamation of raw attraction, tender affection, and instant parity—and it made something in her chest flutter painfully. She looked away and released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

The door to the lift opened, and they both entered. They exchanged a glance or two, but otherwise Claire and Gabriel were subdued and silent.

"Why isn't Maddie on her normal schedule?" Claire later asked to break the tension.

"Oh, we don't have 'normal schedules,' really," said Gabriel. "But, basically, she's been promoted to a more advanced and challenging unit."

"Sounds like Maddie, alright."

"So she _has_ always been like that?"

"Of course. It'd be irritating if I didn't love her so damn much," said Claire.

"I've talked to you more than I've talked to her, I think," said Gabriel. "She's pretty good about keeping her head down and doing her job."

"She's also been harassed by several of the men in this hospital," said Claire harshly. "She's too bloody kind to do much about it, too."

"Except burn a man on her first day here," said Gabriel with a laugh. "He deserved it, though, trust me."

"And yet it hasn't been enough. She told me that one of her supervisors cornered her in a room and... well—"

" _What_? Did she say who it was?"

"I don't remember if she told me his name," said Claire. "She just said it was her supervisor."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his jaw clenched in a manner Claire found to be stupidly attractive. She didn't even know why—it just _was_.

"I'll bet it was Abernathy," Gabriel mumbled darkly.

"Point him out and I'll turn him into a dunghill," said Claire fiercely.

The lift landed at the fourth floor and Claire followed Gabriel out onto the landing. He stopped short at the intersection of the hallways.

"What will you do if Palmer is… what'd you say? Inaccessible?"

"Oh…" said Claire. She shook her head almost in disbelief. "I… suppose I'll go back to London. Perhaps I'll go to work after all."

Gabriel nodded, looked down at his feet, and then glanced back up to Claire. He was clearly working up to ask her something, so she bit her tongue and smiled. When he saw this, he laughed and shook his head.

"You can see right through me, can't you?"

"I haven't the foggiest clue what you mean."

"Now you're just playing with me," he said. "Come on. Let's go find Madeline."

After following Gabriel for a few minutes, they ended up at a desk with an older woman who was hand-copying multiple schedules.

"Hey, Marilla," said Gabriel.

"Hey there, Gabe, who's your friend?" she said.

"This is one of Madeline Palmer's friends. She's looking for her."

"Madeline's working on a pretty severe case right now," said the woman named Marilla. She met Claire's eyes. "Is it an emergency?"

Claire frowned, her face fallen, and shook her head. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to try to find Madeline while she was at work, but she suddenly felt incredibly idiotic. Even meeting Gabriel and fawning over him felt stupid and childish.

"I'm sorry to have troubled you," she said, glancing at the pair of them. "I should—I should go. I'll just see Maddie tonight. I shouldn't have come."

"Wait—Claire—" said Gabriel as Claire began backing away.

"Thank you—I _really_ appreciate your help—"

" _Claire_?"

That was Madeline's voice—Claire spun around to see Madeline in maroon scrubs and covered in some sort of mucus-like green goop. Her brown-coppery hair was pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head, and she looked incredibly worried.

"Maddie—what— _what the bloody hell is all over you_?" Claire asked with a grimace.

"What're you doing here? _Is Oliver hurt_?!"

"No—no—everything's alright. I just—I wanted to talk to you," said Claire.

"Oh… alright," said Madeline with a sigh of relief. She nodded at Gabriel. "Hey Gabe."

"Hi," he said in reply.

"Marilla, I'll be right back," said Madeline. She then nonverbally cleaned herself of the goop and walked away from the desk with Claire.

"What's the matter?"

"I wanted to apologise for last night. I got really upset with Oliver, and I know he would never hurt you," said Claire.

"I was pretty upset myself. I… don't even know that I've processed it. Have you talked to Charlie?"

"No, I haven't, but Nick and Oliver were acting perfectly chummy this morning."

"I suppose that's good to hear," said Madeline. She paused and looked at Claire carefully. "Why are you _really_ here?"

"I suppose I was curious to see where you work, but mostly I just wanted to see you."

Claire pulled Madeline into a tight embrace, and the two women stood hugging for quite some time, until a coarse male voice broke their silence.

"Palmer—what're you doing?"

Madeline jumped away from Claire and whipped her head in the direction of the man who had called her. It was an older man with salt-and-pepper black hair wearing navy blue scrubs.

"I'm coming," she replied with a frown. "I've got to go. See you tonight?"

Claire nodded and they walked back to the desk. The man was holding a clipboard, barking orders at Marilla, and seemed displeased to see Claire.

"Who's this?" he asked. Claire was taken aback by how rude the man was.

"My best friend," said Madeline shortly. "She's leaving now."

"I'll lead her out, Mr. Abernathy," said Gabriel.

"Fine. Palmer, we have another case arriving in two minutes' time. I expect you to be sanitized and in room 453 by then," he said. He then turned and walked away, clipboard in hand.

As soon as he was far enough away, Claire huffed.

"That man is _horrendous_ ," she said passionately, looking to Madeline. " _Is that him_?"

Madeline closed her eyes and bit the inside of her mouth. To Claire, that was as good as a verbal confirmation.

"I'm sorry I can't talk more. I'll see you tonight, alright? I've got to go."

Looking as though she were about to cry, Madeline ran off towards her next patient.

Claire huffed again, crossed her arms under her chest, and looked at Marilla and Gabriel.

"Does no one stand up to him?" she demanded.

"You mean one of the most powerful Healers in this hospital?" Marilla asked dryly. " _No_."

"Come on," said Gabriel, who nodded towards the lifts. "Let's get you out of here. Have a good shift."

"Thanks, see ya," said Marilla.

Claire allowed Gabriel to lead her back to the lifts and down to the plaza without speaking, but once they reached the large, open atrium, Claire stopped.

"Madeline's too soft for this place," she said.

"She only has a few months left, and then she'll never have to see him or any of us ever again," said Gabriel. "Some of us don't have that luxury."

"What'd'you mean?"

"She could find a job anywhere. She's Olivia Palmer's daughter, _and_ she's an excellent Healer," he replied. "Most of us will work here until we happen to find another job in some small, under-served city that desperately needs Healers."

"You sound bitter," said Claire.

"I haven't slept in 32 hours. I know I shouldn't make excuses, but—"

" _Merlin_ —why didn't you say so before?" asked Claire. "You should get home."

"I'd rather take you for coffee," said Gabriel, his voice wavering ever so slightly on the last word. "Despite my exhaustion. I'll need to eat something, as I haven't eaten in about six hours. But—"

"Gabriel," said Claire. She began gently, sighed, and worked to build up her courage. "I'm… for full disclosure, I'm currently seeing someone. And the man I dated before him—the man I thought I'd spend my entire life with, actually—lives and works here in New York City. If I ran into him _here_ —I dunno what would happen, honestly."

"We don't have to stay in the city," he said simply. "Most places are closed right now anyway, and I certainly don't live here."

"I have a boyfriend," said Claire firmly, as though she needed to remind herself. "I care about him very much. He's very good to me. He's a dragon trainer—brave and strong and dangerous and everything."

Gabriel shrugged, doing his best to look nonchalant. "It's just coffee."

"And breakfast?"

"Whatever you'd like."

Claire was silent for a few moments, and she looked up at the glass ceiling. It was still quite dark.

"What time _is_ it here?"

Gabriel looked at his watch and sighed.

"About 3:30 am."

Claire felt herself sigh in response.

"Here's what I think: I think you should get some rest, and if that means taking you up on the offer later, that's alright with me. We can meet here once you've slept."

Claire watched as Gabriel's jaw clenched, and his lips formed a straight line that reminded her immediately of Minerva McGonagall. He evidently didn't want to see her leave, but he looked so exhausted that Claire felt her heart ache.

"Gabriel..."

"It's OK—I get it."

"I just… I would feel awful about keeping you up even later than you've already been. I can't even _imagine_ how exhausted you must be—I'm a troll if I don't get at least seven hours of sleep," said Claire quickly.

Again, she watched as his expression reacted—he closed his eyes and seemed to be processing her words. And then, without saying anything, he extended his right hand towards her. Claire looked at it and then met his gaze.

"D'you trust me?" he asked.

"I probably shouldn't," she responded immediately, "seeing as we met not even half-an-hour ago."

As Gabriel was sighing and retracting his hand, Claire reached out and took it.

"But I do. Where will we go?"

Gabriel smiled with relief.

"Hold tight," he said, squeezing her hand. Claire wanted to do just that—to move closer to him, throw her arms around his neck, and have him hold her tightly—but she resisted the impulse.

Then, in the next moment, they were disappearing from the hospital plaza and apparating into a new space—somewhere Claire had never been before. After the painful twisting of the process, she steadied herself by squeezing Gabriel's hand. It was even darker here, and she could hardly see her own feet. There was a fantastic array of stars littering the night sky, but with no moon, she couldn't see much of her surroundings. She felt a tremor of fear run up her spine, and she moved closer to Gabriel. With her free hand, she found his torso and pulled their bodies together. He immediately let go of her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. His scarf was soft but smelled like something medical that she couldn't quite identify.

"Where are we?"

"Sorry, I forgot this wouldn't be as impressive at three in the morning," he replied.

They disentangled and lit their wands, and she could see that they were standing a few metres away from a body of water. Now that she was paying attention, and her heart wasn't pounding in her ears, she could hear it sloshing onto the sandy shore.

"Let's get inside; we'll come back out later," he said, taking her hand. When they turned around, Claire saw a small clearing with a modest-looking cabin sitting atop a bit of a hill.

"This is where I live," he said as he unlocked his front door nonverbally. "It's probably too messy to have company, but you were worried about me not sleeping, so I thought I'd bring you here."

A thrill shot through Claire's chest at the thought of entering a relatively strange man's home. She briefly wondered if she would end up having to put her new defense skills to the test, and she thought of what Nicolas would say if she escaped: "You didn't think that through? That bloke could've _killed you_!" Her internalised Nicolas continued to shame her poor decision-making skills as the entered his cabin. Gabriel began lighting candles and lamps in several different places. Though the cabin was small on the outside, the inside was quite the opposite—there was loads of space in the initial room, with several soft-looking sofas and chairs, a large fireplace off to the left where the kitchen met the room.

Gabriel cast his wand about, commanding the random piles of newspapers, clothes, and dishes to return to their original location.

"Sorry—I'm not here as often as I'd like," he said as he set his shoulder bag, scarf, and jumper on one of the large, cushioned chairs. There was a Muggle television sitting on the far right of the room behind a beautiful cedar coffee table. Claire made a mental note to ask about the television later, but at that moment, she felt another flash of concern—she hadn't expected to be invited into this man's home, even if he was handsome and kind and tired. What was he expecting to happen? Part of her felt thrilled—Margaret would applaud and relish in her audacity—but the other part of her was worried—Madeline would be afraid to injure this man's feelings or have herself injured. _But if anyone can balance sensibility with daring_ , Claire thought, _it'll be me_.

Claire followed Gabriel into the kitchen and watched as his continued putting things into their place magically.

"Gabriel?"

"Yes?" He looked back at her with a weary smile, which she couldn't resist mimicking.

"Erm… what are you… what are you expecting to happen with my being here?"

Gabriel's tired face lost its smile, and he nodded gravely.

"I'm going to eat and then sleep," he said. "I was hoping you'd stay to see the sun come up over the lake, but, um… you're welcome to leave whenever."

Claire nodded. That was a simple, non-threatening plan. Perhaps too simple?

"Oh. When's the sunrise?"

"Probably around six," he said as he began cracking eggs into a bowl. "Are you hungry?"

"No, I already ate, thank you. So you're not—hoping that anything... might happen?" Claire asked, her face flushing as she spoke. She needed to be sure of his intentions. She was not usually the awkward type, but he unsettled her in a way that she didn't yet understand.

Gabriel laughed, his eyes lighting up, and even threw his head back a bit. Into his bowl of eggs, he eventually mixed some leafy greens, chopped tomatoes and onions, and some spices.

"Hoping is different from expecting, which is different from reality, as one of my professors at Ilvermorny once told me. All the hoping in the world wouldn't get rid of your boyfriend," said Gabriel. She flushed again. "I mean, I'd love to seduce you and everything, but I've never made a habit of sleeping with random witches, especially ones with _dangerous_ boyfriends."

The last comment made Claire grin and shake her head, and Gabriel flashed a grin at her. He then began cooking the mixture of eggs, and as that was going, he ate a bowl of cereal. Claire pulled herself up on the counter and sat there for some time, quietly thinking and listening to the sounds of scrambling eggs.

"I'm not happy with him," said Claire eventually. She expected Gabriel to respond, but he didn't. He glanced at her and then continued cooking his egg mixture.

"He asked me to move in with him, and I'm… not sure I've been happy since then," she said. "Which is awful because that was months ago. But he's been so good to me, so I feel like I _should_ be happy."

Again, Gabriel remained silent. He continued eating—this time a banana. After he finished the banana, he pulled a flat, circular piece of bread-like food out of a plastic bag, set that on a plate, and scooped the scrambled eggs onto the bread.

"Why don't you want to move in with him?" he asked as he skillfully rolled up the eggs into the flat piece of bread.

"Because I'm—I'm only 19—well, I will be next month—and he's older. I think he's ready to get married and start a family and I'm just not there yet. I'm not sure when—or _if_ —I'll be ready for that."

"That's understandable," said Gabriel after he finished his first bite. "Have you told him that?"

It was Claire's turn to be silent. She watched as he ate his breakfast.

"I'm no expert on relationships," said Gabriel with a modesty and frankness that surprised her. "But you can't just assume that he's thinking those things without asking, even if he is older."

"What if I'm only worried about it because I don't want to be his wife?"

Gabriel shrugged and finished eating his multi-part breakfast.

"Sounds like he's been a rebound and now you're ready to find something that can actually work long-term," said Gabriel. "Again—that's just speculation. I hardly know you."

" _Rebound_ ," said Claire slowly. "What d'you mean?"

"You said you had dated a guy before and that it was pretty serious, right?"

"Right. Richard," she said, her voice dropping a notch.

"Richard," said Gabriel. "He was… really important, right?"

"He was... everything to me... for at least four years, if not longer," said Claire.

"And the dude you're with now… did you start dating him because he gave you attention?"

"Charlie cares about me a great deal," said Claire defensively.

"I'm sure that's very true, but that doesn't mean he's not a rebound. If the breakup with Richard was as devastating as it seems, then you probably needed some serious attention and stability. It sounds like this Charlie guy fit the bill and did the job well."

" _Rebound_ ," said Claire again, her body heating with shame and her eyes growing wet. "Merlin."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It… isn't my place."

"I don't love him," said Claire, tears spilling slowly from the corner of her eyes. "I couldn't ever give him what he deserves."

"I'm sure that's not true," said Gabriel with a smile. "You seem perfectly capable of doing anything you set your mind to. I don't even know what you do for a living and I believe that."

"I'm a librarian in London," said Claire with a soft laugh. She shook her head to clear her mind and keep the tears at bay. She needed to know more. "So this… rebound process. How does it usually work?"

"You're sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"OK, well... a serious relationship ends and a shorter one, usually less serious, takes its place. Often the rebounder seeks in the reboundee what the previous relationship lacked. For me, it was sex," said Gabriel. "As in the last girl I dated was only interested in having sex because her previous relationship had been abstinent. After about six months I realised that she didn't care about me at all. She'd been sleeping with other guys, too. I still... I don't know."

At this, Claire's face puckered and she released a loud sob, and tears began free-flowing from her eyes. This reaction alarmed Gabriel, who closed the distance between them immediately and tried to comfort her.

"Hey—I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he said, and she cried harder.

But Claire still had control over her body, and so she slid off the counter and wrapped her arms around him. He then lifted her up and carried her into the large sitting room at the front of the house.

"You're OK," he said. "I promise you're OK."

He lowered her onto the largest of the sofas and then sat next to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I don't blame you for anything," she said. "I'm… furious at myself."

"I'm sure that's normal. But if you really feel that way… if you really feel like you don't want to end up with this guy… you _have_ to tell him. I'm sure he loves you already."

At this, Claire began sobbing again, and Gabriel internally berated himself before speaking.

"I'm going to stop talking, as I'm just making things worse," said Gabriel. "I'm gonna change and get in bed. I'm not encouraging you to come with me, but I… I'm just _hoping_ you'll still be here when I wake up."

"I don't want to leave," said Claire, who wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. "Do you want me to wake you up in a few hours?"

"Really?" he asked, disbelief soaking his voice. "You're gonna stay?"

Claire nodded.

"Do you have any parchment? I need to write through some of these feelings."

"I don't know about parchment, but I'm sure I have plenty of paper," said Gabriel. "Come on."

Claire stood, took his hand, and followed him through the house and up to the second floor, where there were several bedrooms. In the room he entered, there was a large, north-facing window and a great oak desk, and that was where Gabriel lingered. He pulled out a stack of Muggle paper but continued searching for something. Claire looked around—the bedroom was about as large as hers back in London, but the bed was much bigger and covered in fluffy-looking grey-and-blue blankets and pillows with navy sheets. The walls were bare save for light grey curtains and a large painting of a snowy-peaked mountain range. There were large carpet rugs covering most of the hardwood floor, and Claire smiled to see that this room was already pretty tidy. There was a single laundry basket near the closet door that looked as though it had a week's worth of maroon scrubs.

"Ah, here we go," he said, capturing Claire's attention. She approached the desk and saw that Gabriel had found a Muggle journal—it was old and covered in a soft, dark leather, but it was blank on the inside. "You can use this if you'd rather have something bound."

"You'd give this to me?"

"Yes, for sure. I gave it to my older sister for Christmas about three years ago, but she obviously didn't care about it enough to take it with her when she moved. So, now it's yours."

"You have a sister?"

"Two, actually," he said as he sat on the bed and began removing his shoes and socks. "Talia is finishing up at Ilvermorny right now—she's a Pukwudgie, so like Madeline. She wants to be an archivist, so she would love to meet you. Katherine—Kate—she's the older one. She's married and lives in Oregon. She and her husband are both magizoologists, so they travel a lot."

"That must be fun," said Claire.

Gabriel nodded, stretched, and fell back onto the bed fully clothed.

"I'm the only son, so I got the lake property," he said in-between yawns. "Talia has the townhouse. If you get hungry, feel free to eat whatever."

Claire approached the bed and leaned onto it with her upper body. Gabriel opened his eyes and looked up at her. After holding her gaze for a few moments, he closed his eyes and smiled in disbelief.

"Are _you_ expecting something?"

"No," said Claire quietly. "Sleep well. I'm going to eat a banana, and I expect, before I return, for you to have made yourself comfortable _in_ bed, rather than on top of."

"I sleep naked," he said with a yawn-stretched grin.

"Only fools don't," she replied, doing her best to suppress her laughter. She touched his forearm, stood, and left the room.

Claire made her way easily downstairs and found the kitchen. On the counter to her right was the bundle of bananas she had spotted earlier, and she helped herself to one. She gave Gabriel plenty of time to undress and get back into his comfortable-looking bed, and she forced herself to occupy her mind with the house rather than its owner. In the hallway with the staircase, there were tons of photographs and paintings of people—some moving, most not. There was one portrait of a fairly young couple who watched her with interest, and their gaze stopped her. The woman had a sweet, round face, with eyes of an indistinguishable colour, and hair that was a soft-looking, lavish brown. The man, too, had brown hair and dark eyes, though his eyes were clearly brown.

"Hello," she said, feeling quite brave for doing so. The woman smiled, and her eyes brightened as she did so.

"Hey there," said the man.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," said Claire. "I forget…"

"Forget what?" asked the woman kindly.

"That paintings can be… animate," she replied.

"Are you a No-Maj?" asked the man, his eyes narrowed.

"No… but my parents are."

The couple in the painting glanced at one another, their eyes smiling and expressions tender.

"Are you related to Gabriel?" said Claire, finally asking the question that had been lingering on her tongue.

The woman smiled sadly as her face fell, and the man nodded, his face passive.

"We're his parents," said the man.

Claire's right hand involuntarily found her chest as she felt a pang there. _His parents_? _Were his parents dead_?

" _What_ —but…"

"We'll let Gabe tell you the story," said the woman. "I'm Clara Cohen, and this is my husband, Jacob."

Claire felt her face scrunching and her eyes growing wet again.

"He's never brought a girl here before, at least that we _know_ of," said Clara. "I was beginning to worry, you know? He's _always_ been so handsome and sweet, it would be such a shame if he never got married."

"Clara," said Jacob Cohen gently. "Don't be nosy."

"But's she _so beautiful_ , Jacob. I can't help but hope—"

"It's not our place," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Miss…"

"Claire. Claire Denson."

"Miss Denson," said Gabriel's father. "Please go about your business. It was very nice to meet you."

"It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen," said Claire with a nod.

Claire then went back up the stairs and found Gabriel fast asleep. His clothes were in a pile by the bed, and he was asleep on his stomach, with half of his back uncovered by the blankets. Claire sat at the desk, flipped through the journal, and began writing. Every little while, Gabriel made some sort of sleepy huff or sigh or sniffle, and Claire would glance back and hope he was still asleep.

After about thirty minutes' time, at which point Claire's hand began cramping, she took the journal and went back downstairs. The Cohens were asleep in their portrait, or pretending to be, so she began exploring. In a room off the sitting room, Claire found a new sanctuary—it was an office room, but more importantly, it was a miniature library. Not just books lined its walls, either—there were at least three shelves of vinyl records, and near the desk was a record player. There was a large window that faced east, and though Claire was resolved to watch the sky for the break of dawn, she became so lost in the rows of books and music that she forgot. A few hours later, Gabriel awoke and found her in his parents' study listening to music, lying on the floor, and crying again.

"Claire—what's the matter?"

"Billie Holiday," she cried as Gabriel sat next to her on the floor. That was when he recognised the singer. "I adore Billie Holiday. You have all her records."

"These were my mom's," he said as he stroked the top of Claire's head. "She loved music. Played the piano for a long time."

Claire broke into fresh sobs at the thought of him losing both his parents.

"Her parents were No-Majs, so there's a lot of No-Maj stuff around here," said Gabriel. "I know it's pretty weird."

Claire shook her head as more tears streamed silently down her face. She sat up and faced him.

"My parents are Muggles," said Claire. "That must be why I feel so at home. When I walked in here, it was like… I was in my father's study again. I'm sorry… I was going to wake you, I promise."

"It's OK. Two hours was enough."

"I don't see how," said Claire. "I'm also sorry… I… I met your parents... _I'm so sorry_."

"Hey—it's OK," he said, pulling her closer as she began crying again. "Stop apologising. I'm… it's been… I don't know."

"I should be comforting you," she said once she gained control of her breath and voice. "I haven't cried this much in… since last summer, probably."

Claire sat with her back to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her again. Gabriel took this opportunity to rest his head next to hers, and he found that she smelled of cinnamon, coffee, and a sweet but slightly acidic citrus-floral something that he couldn't identify. Her long pale-blonde hair seemed to hold most of the fragrance, but he couldn't help but wonder if her skin tasted similarly. He sighed and let his mind reassert itself.

"I appreciate your concern," said Gabriel. "I'm... so used to pretending that things are OK. But they're not. It's… different. Harder. Even just… going about daily life."

Claire felt a sob swell in her chest and fought it down. She broke from his lazy grasp and turned to face him on her knees.

"You're not alone anymore," she said, placing her hands on either side of his face.

Claire watched as he sat taller, fought back tears, and clenched his jaw.

"I've never… wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I want to kiss you right now," he said as he held her waist. "Which… means that I need to walk away."

He got to his feet, helped Claire stand, and then dropped her hand.

"I wouldn't stop you," said Claire as she went to the record player, stopped it, and put the vinyl away.

" _Don't_ —I don't need to hear that," said Gabriel. "I'm trying to be… I don't know. I'm trying to do the right thing, for once. Come on, let's go watch the sunrise."

"Right, that won't be romantic or anything," said Claire tartly. She was disappointed and angry with herself for being so.

"Don't you sass me, Claire Denson," said Gabriel. "It's not my fault that you've got a boyfriend."

"Uughh, don't remind me," said Claire as she slumped towards the door.

"Don't remind you?" he laughed bitterly. "Rebound, indeed."

Claire met his eyes and glared at him, and he muttered a "sorry" as they found their shoes and dressed in outerwear. Gabriel found one of Talia's jackets and let Claire borrow that. Then he grabbed a blanket and they were out-of-doors in the dawning morning light.

Before them was a lake that was much smaller than the Hogwarts Lake. Trees surrounded the lake on the rest of its perimeter—it was small enough that she could see all of its edges—and Claire smiled to see it. She was thankful to have worn a jumper, trousers, and woolen socks, for it was still pretty chilly. The house sat well above the lake, and the hill sloped down a bit to meet the water, and that's where they went. The sun was just beginning to hit the tree line as they settled on the blanket on the bank of the lake.

"I should've made coffee," said Gabriel with a yawn. "Oh well."

"Do we have time?"

"Probably. But it's OK. I'll get some when we go back inside."

"Alright."

They were silent for a while, and as the sun rose higher and higher in its arc, thoughts ran rampant in their minds. They had both been leaning back on their elbows, but Claire was the first to sit up and make herself more comfortable. She wanted to lean against him again, but he seemed resolved not to touch her. This saddened and frustrated her, but she turned her attention to the scenery before her and forced herself to appreciate its beauty. They continued to sit in silence until Claire looked at Gabriel and waited for his gaze. The sun was higher now, nearly drowning the lake in light, and they squinted to look at one another.

"I'm thankful I didn't go to work today," said Claire. "I'm almost thankful for the row we all had last night, too. Otherwise, we wouldn't have met."

"Don't be so sure," said Gabriel. "If it was meant to be, life would have found a way for us to meet."

" _Meant to be_ ," said Claire. "I dunno if I believe in 'meant to be'. I used to think that Richard and I were 'meant to be'."

"Sounds like he was meant for you _then_ , just not long-term."

"You like to think about long-term, don't you?"

"I have a lot, yeah, since my parents..." said Gabriel. "It's comforting to think I'll have a relationship like theirs one day."

Claire didn't know what to say to this and therefore remained quiet. But Gabriel remained silent too.

"Your mum said you could tell me the story," she said eventually. "But I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

Gabriel sighed and nodded.

"Well... basically, a bunch of pureblood maniacs started rioting and killing No-Majs all over the country, as they, ya know, like to do from time to time. My father had been a dark-wizard catcher, so he was already involved. Then my mom decided that she wanted to help, and they went and fought and didn't make it back."

Claire fought back tears and nodded.

"They sound brave," she said weakly.

"Brave and dead. I've never understood bravery," said Gabriel bitterly. "I'd rather be alive and continuing to make a difference."

"You sound like Maddie, now," said Claire. "Oliver and Nick, on the other hand…."

"Nick?"

"Our other roommate, and Oliver's best mate. He dated Madeline for a while but it didn't work out because she didn't realise that she actually loved Oliver. It's a long story. But I suspect that Nick still loves her."

"She's pretty damn lovable," said Gabriel. "But she's…"

"A morally upstanding perfectionist?" Claire suggested, and Gabriel laughed.

"Yeah. It feels like there's no room for error with her. I don't understand how her boyfriend deals with it."

"She's more forgiving than she must let on at work," said Claire. "Plus, they were childhood sweethearts. Oliver understands her better than any of us, I think."

"I've never understood any of the girls I've dated," said Gabriel. "Which explains why none of my relationships ever worked out."

"I thought I understood Richard. But I really, _really_ didn't."

"He sounds like an asshole. Who's he to break your heart after all those years?"

"Well, he apparently works at the wizarding museum in New York, so you can go find him if you want," said Claire. "I have no intention of ever seeing him again."

They were silent again for a bit, and Claire lied down to stretch out as far as she could.

"I'm sorry that I interrupted you when we were in the hospital. You were going to say something, probably something really sweet, and I was rude and interrupted you."

"It's OK. So you're ready for flattery, now? Is that what you're saying?"

"Actually, no, I'm getting hungry. It's about lunchtime back in London," she said, looking at her watch, which was still set for London time.

"Well let's go eat, then, beautiful," he said with a grin.

"I see what you did there."

"It was horrendously heavy-handed. There's no way you could've missed it!"

Claire laughed and met his gaze again.

"You already see through me, remember? I don't need to make myself more transparent than I already have," he said.

Claire laughed again and they headed indoors. After eating, they spent the rest of the morning in Gabriel's parents' office talking about the books and music they were familiar with. Gabriel was interested in Claire's work at the library and was captivated for her love for knowledge. He found it maddeningly beautiful.

Around noon, Claire began mentally preparing herself for the return to London, as though her time with Gabriel had been some novel-esque escape from the drudgery of her routine and normal life. The life that had, for many months, included Charlie.

"Charlie will probably want to see me tonight," she said, staring blankly at the window of the study. "I dunno what I'm going to do."

"You definitely need to talk to him," said Gabriel after a while.

Claire shook her head, but not in disagreement. It was more like an unwillingness to resign herself to ending their relationship.

"I've never ended a relationship before," said Claire. "I don't even know what to do."

"I don't know this dude at all, but if he's as good of a guy as you say, he won't make it any harder for you than it needs to be," said Gabriel.

Claire stood and stretched, as she had been sitting on the floor with Gabriel for some time.

"It won't be pleasant, that's for sure."

"What if he tells you that he doesn't want a family either. That he just wants to make you happy... whatever that means, whatever the cost," said Gabriel. "How would you feel about him then?"

Claire contemplated this for a few moments, and her gaze lingered on the window again. She knew that Charlie loved her—that much was clear. And Gabriel must have known that, because his words sounded precisely like something Charlie would say. But how did _she_ feel?

Her thoughts kept circling back to Gabriel, even when she tried to divert them back to her feelings for Charlie.

"I… honestly don't know," said Claire. "I'm… I don't know how much I should tell you. Do you want me to be transparent?"

"If you'd like. It sometimes makes things easier," he said.

"I'm currently too distracted by you to think about what I might say or do with him," said Claire. "So… I don't know. It's like a Gabriel fog has drifted into my brain, and it's blocking out everything else."

Gabriel nodded, and his lips twitched in the direction of a smile.

"That's how I've felt all day. Claire fog."

Claire laughed through her nose and shook her head in disbelief.

"I suppose I need to get my thoughts together before I see him," said Claire. "Or else I'll talk about you and he'll think I've cheated on him."

"I've barely touched you," said Gabriel defensively, raising his hands, his palms facing her. "Trust me, it's been a painfully intentional effort."

"And it's all I've wanted all morning," said Claire quietly, her eyes down at her feet.

Gabriel groaned, tossed his head back, and spun around.

"I can't handle hearing you say that," he said, his voice constricted.

"I'm sorry," she said, frowning. "It wasn't my intention to cause you pain."

"I know," he replied, turning to face her. "I'm… terrified that you're going to disappear and then I'll wake up and realise that this has all been some torturous dream…. Hell, even in my dreams, I can't touch you."

Claire darted up, ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck, closing the distance between them completely. He held her close and felt as though if he let her go, she'd disappear forever.

"You _will_ see me again," she said, pulling back to look into his face. "I promise."

He didn't look convinced, and Claire felt her chest ache painfully. She resisted the urge to kiss him.

"What if I show you where _I_ live? With Maddie?" she asked. "Then there won't be anything stopping us from visiting each other."

"OK," said Gabriel with a nod.

They made their way to the fireplace, and Claire took his hand.

"Nicolas Tennant's flat," said Claire clearly as they stood amidst the green flames. When she saw the correct fireplace, she stepped out, and they tumbled into the flat in London.

They stood and brushed the soot off themselves, and Claire realised that they weren't alone—there sat Nicolas, Tonks, and Madeline.

" _Gabe_? Claire? What's going on?" asked Madeline.

"Shit."

* * *

 **Chapter 16: The Final Challenge**

"It's been a… an interesting, awfully exhausting day. And it's not over yet," said Madeline, speaking the last part as a whisper.


	16. The Final Challenge

**Chapter 16: The Final Challenge**

"I object to intellect without discipline; I object to power without constructive purpose."  
\- Spock

* * *

" _Oooo_ , Claire, who is _that_?" cried Tonks.

"Excuse us," said Claire with a forced grin as she hurriedly pulled Gabriel into her room and shut the door.

"When d'you work next?"

"Was that him? He didn't look remotely dangerous."

"What? No—that was Nick, the other roommate," said Claire with a dismissive wave of her hand. "When's your next shift?"

Gabriel looked at his watch and sighed.

"In about 12 hours," he replied. "I will probably go back to sleep when I get home."

Claire pulled him into a hug and said, "Oh, I hope you do."

"Let me know how everything goes," he said, pulling away so he could see and touch her face. Her eyes were bright like ice.

"I will," she replied.

"Either way," he said, "just let me know. Even if… if you change your mind, _that's OK_ … but I'd like to know. _Either way_."

"I will," she said with a smile. "I promise. If you think I'm done looking through those records, you've lost your marbles."

"I'll leave. I know you have some… explaining to do," he said.

They hugged again, and when Claire pulled away, she opened the door without looking back. Gabriel followed her out and then walked straight to the fireplace.

He held up a hand in farewell to Claire and Madeline and then returned to his lakeside cabin, knowing that if he slept at all, he'd be lucky.

Claire turned to face her friends and released a breath she had been inadvertently been holding in.

" _Who_. _Was_. _That_?!" demanded Tonks, her voice the tone of excitement.

"His name's Gabriel Cohen, and he's a Healer at the hospital in New York. I met him this morning when I was searching for Madeline," said Claire. "He showed me around a bit, and… it turned out we had a lot in common, so we went for breakfast."

"How spectacular," said Tonks brightly. "Breakfast that lasts the _whole day_?"

"I thought Gabe was gay," said Madeline, her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Her every word was, like Gabriel's, laced with an underlying thread of exhaustion and, in this case, irony. "He's the only one who's never come on to me."

This earned a hearty laugh from Nicolas and Tonks.

"What, because he's actually got a brain and human decency?" said Claire tersely. "Maddie, can we talk?"

"Erm—sure."

Madeline stood and followed Claire into her room, where Claire disclosed everything.

* * *

"That's… good gracious, that's a lot to take in," said Madeline once Claire had finished explaining her situation. Madeline was clearly still quite tired but was diligently trying to wait up for Oliver and, in this particular moment, be attentive to Claire.

"It's not going to end well, and I know Oliver will be disappointed," said Claire.

"What's Oliver got to be disappointed about?" asked Madeline.

"I know he and Charlie are good mates," said Claire. "I feel like rubbish for ending that."

"Oliver will understand—he wants you to be happy."

"I still think he'll be disappointed," said Claire.

"You let me worry about him. You need to do what makes you happy."

"You're right. I've just never been on this side of a relationship before. It's… disorientating."

"It'll be alright. I'll be here for you," said Madeline. She reclined on Claire's bed and yawned. "It's odd to think that Gabe might be the man you were meant to end up with. I really did think he liked men. He wears lots of scarves, and they look so good on him. Now that I think about it, I wish Oliver liked scarves more."

"No one knows how this will all end up," said Claire, whose mind was still processing the 'meant to be' part.

"I think it'll all be alright," said Madeline with a yawn.

"You're too optimistic. Also, Gabriel doesn't think you're attractive," said Claire with a laugh. "I know that must be _new_ for you—"

" _Oh_ , _please_ , don't give me that. Every man we've ever known has lost his mind over you at some point. Everyone knows you're the prettiest one; even Margaret thinks so, but she won't ever say it."

"I think you're exaggerating, since I know you don't lie."

"Alright, maybe not Oliver, but he does agree that you are the prettiest," said Madeline.

"And I'll bet that you forced him into that corner," said Claire with a laugh. "But I'll take the compliment and say no more."

"It doesn't surprise me that Gabriel fell dead in love with you on sight," said Madeline nonchalantly. "But it _does_ surprise me that you aren't happy with Charlie."

"I didn't _realise_ it until last night, when he left without saying goodnight or anything, and it didn't upset me as much as I thought it would. Then today when I met Gabriel…" said Claire. She sighed. "I do care for him, deeply, but... so much has changed."

"Well—I'm here for you. Whatever you need," said Madeline.

Madeline found herself waiting for Oliver by reading and trying not to doze off to the sound of Nicolas and Tonks gently talking while playing with a stack of Muggle playing cards. Nicolas had thought Muggle cards quite boring at first, but Claire and Tonks knew so many different games that he eventually changed his mind.

"Maddie, you're pathetic," said Nicolas as her eyes closed and her head slumped over. "Go to bed."

"No," she said stubbornly. She sat up and shook her head. "I told Oliver I'd wait."

That was when they all heard the familiar pop that signaled the arrival of one of their friends—this time it was Oliver and Charlie arriving together. Madeline smiled and nearly cried with relief when she saw him, and he didn't look nearly as tired as usual. He wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her.

"Did you have a good shift?" he asked.

Madeline shook her head and tried to hold back her tears.

"I've been needing to see you."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Charlie and I went for a drink," said Oliver.

Madeline looked around and saw that Charlie was walking into Claire's room. Though she said nothing, Oliver could tell that Madeline was not her normal self. Her gaze, more forlorn than usual, lingered too long on Claire's bedroom door.

"What's going on?"

"It's been a… an interesting, awfully exhausting day. And it's not over yet," she said, speaking the last part as a whisper.

"Wha'd'you mean?"

"Claire brought home some handsome American bloke," said Nicolas. He moved a few cards around while he said, "I don't think it bodes well for ol' Charles."

Madeline's eyes rolled more exaggeratedly than usual at hearing Nicolas say "ol' Charles," but then she realised that she needed to check him.

" _Nothing happened_ between them. Claire told me everything," said Madeline sternly.

"Suit yourself," said Nicolas peaceably. "Though there's no way nothing happened. He's a rake if I ever saw one."

" _Shut it_ , Nick," said Madeline, who actually raised her voice. "I'm too tired for your shit. You _don't_ know what you're talking about, so just— _shut it for once_!"

Tonks and Nicolas' eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Madeline huffed and made her way into the kitchen. Oliver followed her.

"Is it true—is Claire ending things with Charlie?" asked Oliver.

"I dunno," said Madeline. "Her plan was to just… lay everything on the table."

"Ah. Are _you_ alright?"

"I'll be if Nick can keep his mouth shut," she whispered. "But mostly I'm ready to sleep."

Oliver pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. They made their way back to the sitting area, where they lounged together on a sofa.

"She _really_ didn't do anything with him?" asked Tonks.

"They _held hands_ , for Merlin's sake, and hugged once or twice," said Madeline. "Is that what you want to hear? That they engaged in the same sort of physical contact—lesser than, even—I've seen from the two of you? Are _you two_ shagging, or am I just making wild, unfair accusations?"

Tonks and Nicolas looked at Madeline steadily, with gazes unreadable, and then glanced at one another.

"I see your point," said Tonks. "Sorry."

Madeline closed her eyes and fell half asleep to Oliver stroking his fingers across the top of her head.

When Claire's bedroom door opened, it took Madeline a moment to sit up, wake up, and register what was going on. Oliver was still sitting next to her, but Nicolas had gone out to smoke and Tonks had followed. Those two were almost always talking or silently enjoying the other's presence. Madeline couldn't remember when Nicolas had started smoking, but she wasn't happy about it and tried her best to ignore it.

Charlie and Claire exited her bedroom looking as though they both had been crying. Oliver stood and made his way to Charlie, who was standing near the kitchen while Claire approached the fireplace and disappeared.

"Did you know?" Charlie asked Oliver, his voice constricted and low.

"No, not a bloody clue," said Oliver. He put a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "What's happened?"

"She's gone to fetch the bloke… whoever helped her come to terms with her feelings or… whatever happened."

"Nothing happened between them," said Madeline quietly.

Charlie looked at Madeline, nodded, and closed his eyes.

"I appreciate your confidence, Madeline, but you weren't there," said Charlie. "I know you believe that to be true, but I want to hear it from him."

Madeline lied down as Oliver and Charlie moved into the kitchen and held a low, barely audible conversation. Then, a few brief minutes later, Claire arrived with Gabe in tow. She dropped his hand immediately and nonverbally cleaned them of soot. Madeline sat up.

"Madeline," he said with a nod. Madeline nodded in return.

"Hello Gabe."

Oliver and Charlie walked in, and, while Oliver leaned on the sofa where Madeline sat, Charlie approached Gabe directly. That was also when Nicolas and Tonks re-entered and stood next to Oliver.

"Gabriel Cohen," said Gabe, who offered Charlie his hand. Charlie gazed at the man in front of him and, after several long moments, took his hand and shook it. Claire stood back a bit looking dreadfully pale and red-eyed, her arms crossed tight across her body.

"Charlie Weasley. I'd like to hear… from you… what happened."

"Claire told me some of her concerns, and I told her that she needed to speak to you about them, rather than me," said Gabe. "Then I told her one of my rather awful relationship stories and she started crying."

"Anything else?" asked Charlie.

"We didn't sleep together, if that's what you're asking," said Gabe. "I don't fuck around with other guy's girlfriends. She was crying her face off all morning."

"You didn't…"

"I didn't hurt her, kiss her, or otherwise _do_ anything to her. I haven't been in a fight in a while, so I'm sure you'd kick my ass, but if that's what would make you feel better…."

Gabe and Charlie stared at each other for several moments, as if Charlie needed to see something like courage in this man's eyes before ascertaining his worthiness. Madeline saw Tonks glanced at Nicolas but couldn't make anything of it, as both their faces were inscrutable. She, though, was feeling more nervous than ever—perhaps it was exhaustion, but she was shaking and felt tears welling up in her eyes. Was Charlie considering Gabe's offer?

" _Don't fight_ , _please_ ," said Madeline. "There's no need for that."

While Charlie had many other things he wanted to ask, he gritted his teeth and turned to Claire, who immediately dissolved into tears. Charlie strode over and put his burly, scarred arms around her.

" _I'm so sorry_ ," she cried, and Charlie led her back into her room. Once they were gone, Gabe collapsed into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

"Part of me didn't think she'd actually do it," said Gabe, who looked at Madeline.

"I wasn't sure, either, when she told me," said Madeline, her voice small. "D'you want anything to drink or…"

"No, I'm good, thanks. Did she tell you everything?"

As Madeline nodded, Nicolas moved toward the kitchen, picked up an apple, and began chomping through it. The crunch of the apple sounded loud in the quiet room.

"I personally never thought they were a good match," said Tonks quietly, whose hair was short, dark, and curly today. "Claire's too complex for someone as simple and down-to-earth as Charlie Weasley."

"What'd'you mean, _simple_?" asked Oliver defensively. Madeline placed her hand on his and gave it a squeeze.

"Claire likes to take risks," said Tonks. "I see it over and over again in our training, and from the stories she and Madeline have told me. It wasn't ever going to work out for them, not long-term, anyway."

"But what d'you mean by Charlie being _simple_?"

"Oliver," said Tonks, "you know as well as I that Charlie's basically—"

"Drop it," said Nicolas to Tonks with a shake of his head and a wave of his apple-holding hand. "Just drop it."

"Hindsight is 20/20, is what we Americans like to say," said Gabe.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Nicolas.

"It means that it's easy to say, 'Oh, I knew it was going to happen all along' after it's already happened," said Gabe, who glanced at Tonks and then back to Nicolas. " _Of course_ our vision is clearer once we've seen whatever it is we're looking at."

"Well, mark my words, _Gabriel_ ," said Tonks saucily, "since you seem to be mightily invested in our Claire Denson after only a few hours of interacting with her. She _does_ like to take risks, whether she realises it or not. Running off to fight Death Eaters at the World Cup, beginning Auror training, and running off with you… that's only the beginning."

"So _I'm_ a risk," said Gabe coolly. "Good to know."

"You're certainly not an old chum, now, are you?" asked Nicolas.

"Claire _trusts_ me," said Gabe. "Which I thought would be enough for the people who _claim_ to be her friend."

"I trust you," said Madeline. "I… I thought you were gay because you never came onto me. Now I realise that you're just… not a prick."

This made Gabe smile, shake his head, and laugh, which in turn gave Madeline cause to laugh.

"You thought I was gay because I didn't try to sleep with you?"

"Well… yes, I suppose I did," said Madeline. "And you wear loads of scarves."

"What's wrong with scarves?" cried Nicolas and Gabe at the same time.

"Nothing," said Madeline with a laugh. "I just—I made a mistake, alright? I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," said Gabe with a grin. "Oh, Palmer, you're a special one, that's for sure."

"I don't see myself as very special," said Madeline quickly.

" _Exactly_ ," said Gabe with a nod.

Madeline looked at Oliver, who was suppressing a smile. She could tell that he was ready to speak with her alone, but he wouldn't rush anything. _Such patience_ , she thought. Then Claire exited her bedroom, her face splotched, eyes red, and expression distraught.

" _He's gone_ ," she sobbed. " _He's gone—gone forever. What've I done_?"

Madeline bounded up and was the first to reach her. Claire collapsed into Madeline's whole body, nearly knocking her over. Nicolas was there next, an apple core in his left hand, watching to make sure that they didn't both topple over.

Claire cried until Tonks took it upon herself to place a calming charm on her. That was when Claire felt her logical mind reassert some of its power, and she looked to see that Gabriel was still sitting there. She broke free from Madeline, thanked her, and then sat next to him.

"I'm so sorry," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Madeline heard Nicolas scoff ever so gently and glared at him.

"It's alright," she said, wiping her face and trying to steady her breathing. "It needed to be done, but I'm still gutted."

"You'll be alright," said Tonks. "I daresay you'll recover soon enough."

"D'you mind my asking," said Nicolas, "whether last night's events—"

"Yes, last night had a lot to do with it. But he loved me. That was—the _last thing he said_ ," she said, tears breaking through her calm. After several moments of silence, Nicolas finished his apple, threw away the core, and made an announcement.

"Well—I'm turning in," said Nicolas. "See you lot tomorrow."

He then whispered something to Tonks, but Madeline didn't quite catch it. She nodded and he disappeared, and then Tonks went into the kitchen.

"Now that he's gone," said Madeline, who moved to sit next to Claire. "Nick loved me too, remember? But it's worked out alright."

"He was miserable for months," said Claire, her eyebrows contracted.

"Yeah—well—he's happy now, isn't he?" Madeline asked, looking at Claire and then Oliver. Claire didn't look convinced, and Oliver was putting on his practiced unreadable expression. Madeline sat up.

" _Isn't he_?"

"Yes, yes," said Tonks brusquely. She was carrying a potion from the kitchen. "He's a happy lad, Maddie, don't you worry about ol' Nicolas. He's not in love with you anymore—he and Margaret are quite perfect for one another."

"You barely know her," said Claire.

"True—but she… _handles him_ in a way that Madeline could never—"

"Stop—stop. We get it," said Claire. "What's that?"

"Sleeping potion," said Tonks. "Whenever you're ready—take some."

" _Christ_ , I'm not a child, I don't—"

"Don't get irrationally defensive when you're upset?" asked Tonks, her gaze stern. "Take the damn potion and get some sleep, Claire."

"As a Healer and friend, I agree with… Miss—uh…" said Gabriel.

"Tonks," said Tonks. "I'm off. See to it that she rests. I'll be back Sunday."

They said goodbye and watched Tonks go, and that was when Oliver stood to turn in. Madeline curled closer to Claire.

"Go join Oliver, Maddie," said Claire after he'd gone. "I know you've been waiting for him all night."

"Yes, but I want to make sure you're alright."

"I will be," said Claire, looking at Madeline seriously. "I will. I couldn't see us spending a lifetime together. It needed to be done, as much as it hurts."

Madeline nodded, stood, and looked at Gabriel and Claire as they sat next to one another.

"What are you thinking, Maddie? I can't read your face, for once."

"Ask me again in a year or two."

"You'll have forgotten by then," said Claire with a decisive shake of her head.

"No—I promise I won't. Goodnight."

* * *

The weather grew warmer and finer as April passed to May. The week after the breakup, everyone seemed to disappear—Tonks went on a secret Auror mission, but Lupin had been continuing their dueling lessons without her. Nicolas and Margaret finally went to Italy together for about ten days, and Claire was often with Gabe. In their absence, Oliver and Madeline cooked together and sometimes chased each other around the flat as though they were children again.

When Nicolas and Margaret returned, they were tanner and more in love than anyone could have expected. According to Margaret, Nicolas had finally met all of her family and had been a favourite with her young nieces and nephews. He'd apparently fit right in and was adored by all her family. In addition to touring the countryside and splurging on all manner of exquisiteness, they also purportedly resolved many of their previous "communication issues". All in all, as Oliver had summarized to Lupin one evening, they returned "quite as in love as they should've always been".

Then, between Claire and Tonks' combined absences, Margaret renewed her presence and priority in the flat—she was there more often than not, much to Madeline's surprise, and kept the flat's maintenance running quite smoothly. She cooked and cleaned far more efficiently than Claire, who liked to do things by hand, and Nicolas was pleased with the transition. While Madeline was loath to admit it, seeing Nicolas and Margaret functioning as a happy and effective couple was unsettling simply due to its strangeness.

Margaret also officially met Gabriel, and she was all astonishment at both how handsome and clever he was. She also flatly refused to believe that they still hadn't so much as kissed. Claire had explained that Gabriel, because of his past relationships, wanted to wait for some time before engaging in physical affection. He wanted to be friends first, which Nicolas thought was ridiculous. Madeline vocalised her adamant support—she believed that Claire needed a break from physical relationships. This, Gabriel explained one evening, was his other motivation for keeping their relationship more platonic.

Then there were Oliver's late-night practices, which sometimes left Madeline alone with either Nicolas and Margaret or Claire and Gabriel. In the rare event that everyone was home at the same time, Madeline fell into her old habit of playing peacemaker to Claire and Margaret's bickering, which annoyed everyone, including herself. Madeline found herself wishing that she and Oliver _did_ have their own place, and she often daydreamed about what it would be like to live with _just_ him. No more bickering between friends (even if it was playful, it grew old), no more cleaning others' dishes, no more finding her favourite jams gone, no more wondering if they could trust their friends not to randomly burst in during private moments. She found herself desperately hoping to live with him soon, and she grew envious of Claire's ability to disappear with Gabe to Merlin-knows-where, even if they weren't shagging.

Oliver had mentioned briefly, early in May, speaking to their parents about starting to look for a house, but Madeline figured they should marry first. It was the expected protocol for a young couple, wasn't it? Though Oliver agreed, he'd mentioned nothing about it for over a fortnight, leaving Madeline feeling a little disenchanted. Though she didn't doubt their relationship, she felt that they should be making plans of some sort, or trying, at the very least, to figure out their future life together. Though Madeline said nothing to him, she felt it strange to think that Oliver wasn't concerned about the topic. But, with everything else going on, she didn't have much time to dwell on it.

As her six months as the hospital grew to a close, her work grew more demanding—mentally, emotionally, and physically—as she was scheduled more often than not. Befriending Gabe and Jamila had been helpful in making the hospital in NYC less of a burden, but her other fellow interns were absolutely horrendous. Though she had threatened to report their vastly inappropriate behavior to Mrs. Turner, she never did, and she felt cowardly and ashamed of herself. But she was resolved to do so if any of them approached her again, including Abernathy.

* * *

It was with this sense of exhaustion that Madeline found herself sitting silently next to Margaret at Kendra's bridal party the second weekend in May. Claire and the others hadn't yet arrived, and Madeline looked down at her watch. Many of Kendra and Peter's female relatives and friends of the family were milling about, eating, and looking through pictures.

"Y'know," said Margaret. "Gabriel seems too rakish for Claire."

" _Rakish_?" Madeline asked, laughing derisively. "The bloke who wants to be her friend first? The only bloke at the hospital who hasn't tried to shag me?"

"Mmmm, I suppose he does have _some_ decency."

"He's a pretty decent human, yes," said Madeline irritably. "Why?"

"He's damnably handsome. Peculiarly handsome. It's suspicious."

Madeline rolled her eyes until they closed. Where the hell was Claire? Or Elaine, for that matter? Or even Penelope!

"What's got your knickers in a twist? Still haven't shagged Oliver, have you?"

 _Of course not_ , she thought. _How could I, with roommates like you?_ Rather than replying, Madeline stood as she heard the fireplace rumble. Elaine then gracefully strolled out, much to Madeline's unconcealed delight.

"Maddie!"

"Elaine!"

They hugged and squealed a little bit, and then Kendra burst in looking thrilled. Soon Madeline was also greeting Claire, Penelope, and Temperance, much to her relief. She wouldn't be stuck with just Margaret again. They all ate and had tea together away from the older women, which allowed for Kendra to explain absolutely everything she could think of relating to the wedding. While this got old quickly, no one wanted to interrupt her.

"… and planning is such a nightmare. His mum's been helpful, of course, but the whole flower fiasco could have been totally prevented with better time management. Oh, and preparing the guestlists was horrendous! We're having at least 150 people in _our_ backyard! Can you believe that? I've tried talking to him, but Peter was absolutely insistent on inviting everyone in our year. Murray even told him—"

At this, Penelope interrupted, which she didn't often do.

"What d'you mean, 'everyone in our year'?" she asked, her eyes narrowed with puzzlement.

Claire and Madeline glanced at one another, and she saw a distinct flicker of fear in Claire's bright green eyes.

"I mean everyone but the Slytherins, except Tempy, of course," said Kendra, her large brown eyes wide and her glossed lips pursed in irritation. "I told him he's off his rocker, _really_ , I did. But he's—"

"So… you mean that he's invited Richard Callaghan and Peregrine Dixon?" asked Madeline.

Kendra nodded. She glanced anxiously at Claire, who was simply staring at her teacup. It was Margaret, though, who pitched a fit.

" _Seriously_? Why the hell does Peter—" said Margaret, as she lowered her voice so that the older women wouldn't come rushing in, "— _give a bloody fuck about_ Callaghan and Dixon? Since _when_?"

"Since three weeks ago?" said Kendra. "I'm sorry, really—but we've already sent out the invitations. They'll either... ignore it or show up, I suppose."

"What's he hoping will happen?" asked Temperance, her voice calm but bemused.

"He mentioned that it would be nice if we all… y'know… _got on_ better," said Kendra, her cheeks flushing. "I didn't know what to tell him, honestly! 'No, we can't have everyone being chums, that's too easy'," she said, purposefully altering her tone for the last bit.

"You could have told him to consider how seeing Richard would make me feel," said Claire rather more peaceably that everyone expected.

"I _did_ , truly. He said you seemed so happy with Charlie that it wouldn't matter."

"Except that she's not _with_ Charlie Weasley anymore," said Margaret tartly.

"What?!" cried several of the ladies, and Madeline and Claire sent Margaret an equally disdainful and irritated glare.

" _Thanks_ , Margo," said Claire.

"'Shamed of your new piece of American arse?" she asked, and Claire flared up. Before she could have a go at her, however, Madeline grasped Margaret's arm and pulled her away from the table and into a small hallway several metres away.

" _What the hell i_ s wrong with you?" Madeline hissed.

"He's just a fine piece of arse, Maddie, and you _know it_ ," said Margaret. "Their 'waiting' is _utter rubbish_ —"

"It doesn't matter _what_ he is to her—it's not _your_ place to share her private affairs with everyone, even if we are close. That was excruciatingly… bitchy, and I'm severely disappointed in you."

Madeline internally chuckled at her maternal, preachy language and then focused her attention back to Margaret.

"I'm _sorry_ , alright, _mum_. I'm just—frazzled."

"About _what_?"

"Look—it doesn't matter. I'll keep my cheek to myself, as per usual."

"As per _unusual_ , you stroppy cow. Knock that shit off."

"Maddie—you're tetchy too. What's _with_ us today?"

"According to you, sounds like neither of us has had a good shag recently—"

"No—I know what it is," she said, her hand flying to her abdomen as she bent over. "We've synced up. I'm about to start—"

" _No_ —not now," whined Madeline. She stomped her foot. "Why _now_?"

Margaret groaned as they resumed their place at the tea table.

"Sorry," said Madeline. "We've just realised—we're both about to start our lovely lady time. I'd give mine a day."

"I'd give mine two bloody hours," said Margaret with a grimace and a hand below her stomach.

Elaine and Penelope laughed good-naturedly, and Temperance merely smiled.

"What did you tell them?" Madeline asked Claire once another conversation started.

"That I'm not just shagging some American bloke, that I actually care about the idiot."

"Name and all?"

"'Course."

* * *

Oliver lounged on the sofa, his legs outstretched and his belly full. Nicolas had made lasagna—without assistance—and it had turned out bloody amazing. He, Nicolas, and Gabriel were watching tapes of Scotland playing in the previous world cup and losing miserably. Oliver and Nicolas hadn't taken well to Gabriel at first—how could they, after he basically replaced Charlie—but the bloke grew on them.

He was less talkative than Charlie usually was, but when he did speak, it was with good humor, good timing, or good sense (and often an impressive combination of the three). Oliver respected that, though he couldn't vouch for Nicolas, and found in Gabriel a reasonable and level-headed (if not quiet and scientific-minded) male companion.

It also helped tremendously that he wasn't keen to make a spectacle of his relationship with Claire—Gabriel cared for her and wanted to simply spend time with her, even if Nicolas didn't believe him. He'd explained one night while Margaret and Nicolas were gone that his last girlfriend had used him terribly, and that he wanted to be sure their attachment was based on friendship first and sexual intimacy second. Oliver explained how he and Madeline had been teased endlessly by them all and how they still hadn't fully consummated their relationship. It was then that Oliver and Gabriel found a mutual respect for one another, and Gabriel assured Oliver that their wait would be far more rewarding than the reckless abandon with which Nicolas and Margaret approached their intimacy.

As they watched the match, Nicolas challenged them to a drinking game—a shot for every shot Scotland missed—and by the time the women returned from Kendra's bridal whatever, they were fairly sloshed. But true to form, the men held their liquor quietly and tolerably well… until, of course, the women appeared.

They exited the fireplace in quick succession—first Claire, then Madeline, and lastly Margaret. Oliver could tell by Madeline's expression that something was not quite right, but he was too intoxicatedly lazy to do anything but smile at her.

"I cannot _believe_ this," cried Margaret, to no one's surprise. She threw down her shoes in emphasis. "She acted so bloody _cavalier_ about the whole damn thing, too—'oh, Peter just wants us all to be great chums, and I couldn't for _once_ in my life have my own bloody opinion about anything, so here we are'—"

"Margo, _shut it_ ," snapped Claire. "You're not helping."

"She's the _daftest_ dimbo I've ever possibly—"

"Wha's happ'n?" asked Nicolas. Margaret was in too great a fury to notice his slight slur, but Madeline noticed, and glanced to Oliver to confirm her suspicions. The women each found their respective partner and plopped down next to them with a sigh.

"Kendra and Peter have decided, out of the pure charity and kindness of their hearts, to invite _Richard_ Callaghan and Peregrine _Dixon_ to their wedding," said Margaret. " _That's_ what."

"Why would they do that?" asked Nicolas, but Madeline could tell it was with effort.

"Because Peter's got a bloody snuffbox for his Hufflepuff brain, that's why," said Margaret.

" _Oi_ ," said Madeline, who glared at Margaret. "Don't go there."

"They're both dafter than dung, Maddie! You can't possibly—"

"D'you really think they'll show up?" asked Oliver. "Why wouldn't they just ignore the 'vitations?"

"Because that would be too easy," said Claire with a sigh. "Though I'm certainly hoping you're correct."

"Oh, they'll show up, alright, and ruin bloody everything," said Margaret.

Nicolas gave Margaret a look-over that clearly said, "What's with you tonight?" And she responded by grunting with frustration, standing, and stomping off into her bedroom.

"I can't tell if I should follow her or not," said Nicolas. "S'pose it wouldn't hurt…."

"She's PMSing," said Claire with her eyes closed. "We're all about to be, actually."

"Not you too," groaned Madeline. "We're going to murder each other."

At this, Gabriel laughed, and Claire's eyes popped open.

"Something funny?"

"Yes, actually—you're all quite amusing," he said, his American accent sticking out like a house-elf among pixies. "I'll bring you some chocolate tomorrow."

" _Ha-ha_ ," said Claire, narrowing her eyes. "This news doesn't bode well for you, you know—how would you like to attend a wedding where my ex will inevitably try to simultaneously dismember you and win me back?"

"He doesn't scare me, even with your warnings and complaints."

Claire's eyebrows shot up and her eyes softened, managing to look gorgeously surprised.

"You've no idea what he's capable of," said Claire. " _I'm_ not even sure anymore, and I knew him best."

"We'll all be there," said Oliver slowly. "We won't let him do anything… too stupid."

Claire glanced at Oliver and nodded, and then she returned her gaze to Gabriel.

"You lot've been drinking, haven't you?" asked Madeline, who eyed Oliver closely. "You're pretending to be sober, but I can tell…."

"Tell what?" asked Oliver with a smirk.

"You're thinking about snogging," said Madeline with a grim sort of satisfaction.

"Always," he said, pulling her closer.

As Oliver started placing kisses along Madeline's face, Nicolas reentered looking uncharacteristically frazzled.

"Definitely PMSing," said Nicolas with a curt nod. "Won't be touching that for about a week, I reckon."

"It only lasts five days," said Claire. "If that. Each woman's cycle is fairly—"

"No offense to your expansive knowledge, love, but frankly—I don't want to hear it," said Nicolas.

" _Alright_ ," said Claire tartly. "So I suppose the idea of us bleeding for five days straight and—"

"Nope!" said Nicolas, who stood, threw his arms into the air, and staggered sloppily into the kitchen. "Nope, nope, nope!"

"I'd like to see a _man_ bleed for five days and live," cried Claire, yelling at Nicolas' back.

"That would certainly be impressive," said Gabriel with a nod. "Though I imagine the amount of blood lost wouldn't be considerable enough to seriously damage the production of the red—"

Gabriel was cut off, quite suddenly, by Claire sitting up and kissing his cheek. Was that their first kiss?

"Mmmm," he said, his eyes closed. "I see you're pleased with my intimate knowledge of the human body. But to my point—I'd like to know, in liters, how much blood women actually lose during their cycles."

"I think I've read that it can be anywhere from 30 to 80 milliliters," said Madeline.

Gabriel and Claire looked at Madeline in surprise, but she shrugged.

"I'm not sure where I read that," she replied, "so don't take my word for it."

"I suppose that's still pretty significant," said Gabriel, his gaze thoughtful.

"Sure as hell feels like it," said Madeline.

"Are you nearing your…" said Oliver, and Madeline nodded to confirm his assumption. She groaned and slumped over.

"How does a bath sound?" he asked, brushing his nose against her ear.

"Lovely, actually," said Madeline with a tired smile. Madeline glanced at Claire, but she and Gabriel were having a conversation without speaking. It ended with Gabriel nodding, and then Claire met Madeline's gaze.

"You alright?" asked Madeline.

"Yeah," she said, smiling at the man sitting with her. "Better than alright. But this wedding will be a disaster if he shows up and acts like an arse."

"Too right," said Oliver, who stood. Madeline joined him. "Nick 'n' I'll corner him. It'll be fine."

* * *

The month of May then bled into June, and the heat of summer was upon them. To their great surprise, the first-string Keeper of Puddlemere was severely injured in their first summer match, and Oliver was brought in to play for him. Madeline was extremely thankful she had requested off for the match, and she had the pleasure of watching (along with Jamila, who'd been wanting to come) Oliver play spectacularly against the Tutshill Tornadoes. He didn't miss a single shot! At the after-party, Jamila met the second-string Chaser named Damien, and they hit it off pretty well. He asked her to be his date at their Puddlemere gala in July, and she excitedly accepted the invitation, to Madeline's delight. After the match against the Tornadoes, Oliver was permanently promoted to first-string Keeper, and he was (for several weeks) in a state of dull shock and awe.

It was also in June that their internship at the hospital in NYC ended, and many of the Healers received full-time job offers from wizarding hospitals around the globe. The one in NYC offered four, and St. Mungo's offered only three. To Madeline's relief, the three for St. Mungo's were herself, Gabriel, and Jamila, the three Healers who had worked mostly in the child care and emergency units. They planned a party in July to celebrate their completion of the internship, and Madeline and Oliver were happily inviting many of their friends, much to Nicolas' delight. He loved having parties.

Claire, too, was thrilled to have Gabriel joining her in London. While he would keep his primary residence at his family's old cabin in America (wherever it was), he would have more regular hours, and his workplace would be in walking distance of hers.

As the month of June passed, things seemed to be falling into place for everyone. Tonks returned, which meant that she and Margaret were growing better acquainted, much to the dismay of Nicolas—he was now endlessly teased by every woman in the flat, save for Madeline. She only joined in on special occasions.

* * *

Soon it was the day of the final Triwizard Tournament task, and Madeline was going to meet McGonagall in her office. Before she left, she and Oliver snuggled and snogged for some time. She was feeling particularly lazy, lying there in his arms, and wanted nothing more than to disappear with him.

"We should go away next weekend," said Madeline. "After your match, of course."

"Where would you want to go?"

"Anywhere," said Madeline. "Somewhere where we can be really alone."

Oliver kissed the side of her head and then pulled her on top of him.

"I'll work on it. Promise."

"Really?!"

"Of course. We both need an escape from this flat. I'll see what I can find," said Oliver. "I'm sure Damien or Nick or someone knows something."

At this, they kissed, and continued doing so until Madeline had to leave. As she approached the fireplace, Nicolas spoke to her.

"Have fun, Maddie. Tell Flitwick his favourite student says hello!"

"Alright! Claire, d'you want me to say hello to Flitwick for you?" Madeline asked, looking at her in earnest.

"I meant _me_ , you cheeky vixen!"

"Oh, that's a new one," said Gabriel with a laugh. "'Cheeky vixen'. I quite like that."

"It's trademarked," said Nicolas smugly. "Tennant property: pleasurable insult number five-hundred and thirty-two."

Everyone laughed at this, and while still laughing, Oliver walked over to Madeline and kissed her again. Laughing and grinning, she then waved and used the Floo to travel to McGonagall's office. McGonagall was letting her attend the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, but only if Madeline helped to monitor the students or something along those lines; she couldn't quite remember what she'd promised to do, as it had been over a month since they spoke. Madeline was sure that the task would pass without much ado, but when she arrived, she was surprised to see that McGonagall was relieved to see her.

"Hello, Minerva."

"Oh, Madeline dear, thank goodness. We're about to have the feast. Will you join me?"

"Of course," said Madeline as she pulled on her Hufflepuff cloak.

"Dumbledore was thrilled to hear that you would be sitting with your House this evening," said McGonagall. "And Pomona will be equally excited to see you."

Madeline nodded while McGonagall sighed.

"I'll lead you down to the Great Hall, where you are welcome to be seated with your House. They may be excited to see you, but do not let them cause a scene. We were not, strictly speaking, supposed to invite others, but Dumbledore felt that he could trust you to blend in and still be of assistance."

"Yes, professor," said Madeline with a nod.

"Well, then. To the Great Hall," said McGonagall as her lips twitched into a small smile.

Down at the Great Hall, which was far fuller than she remembered ever seeing it, Madeline sat the end of Hufflepuff table. She was greeted happily by the fourth and fifth years (who she remembered as third and fourth years).

"House mum! What're you doing here?"

"I came to cheer for Ced! What'd'you think?"

"McGonagall let you?" asked Ernie Macmillan with surprise. He looked to McGonagall as she approached the head table.

Madeline nodded and pressed a finger to her lips, as Dumbledore was standing to speak and begin the meal. While looking around, Madeline noticed that Cedric was sitting with his parents further down the table and that Mrs. Weasley and Bill Weasley was sitting with Harry Potter. Though Madeline felt surprise at seeing Bill—he looked quite the same as he had at the World Cup—and she felt a pang in her chest at thinking of Charlie. It had been nearly two months, but Madeline couldn't help but thinking that Claire and Charlie had split prematurely, even if Gabriel was a suitable partner for her. Bill then glanced over and met Madeline's eyes—his brows contracted, but otherwise his expression was inscrutable. Madeline looked away and down at her empty plate. Dumbledore then began the feast and food appeared all along the table.

Madeline hadn't had a Hogwarts meal in almost exactly a year, and she did her best to savor every single bite—she didn't speak much at all, and the younger Hufflepuffs didn't seem to mind carrying on their conversations without her. Several of them were discussing their OWLs and other end-of-year exams, and Madeline stopped herself from laughing. She remembered stressing over OWLs—it felt like ages ago. Hannah Abbot turned to Madeline and inquired about the OWLs, but before Madeline could respond, a fifth year pounced on her.

"We've just had ours—why not ask us?"

"Because at least I know Madeline got all hers," said Hannah with a level of cheek that surprised her. The boy was about to respond when Madeline spoke up.

"Woah, woah—save it," said Madeline, her mouth thick with some sort of delicious chocolate mousse. "This isn't the time to be bickering. Cedric's about to compete in arguably the most dangerous task yet. He needs a unified House!"

"Wha—d'you know what the task is?" cried another fifth-year boy named Alan.

"No, but I've been told it's trickier and far more dangerous than the others," said Madeline.

"They've already fought a dragon—I mean, what could possibly be worse?" asked one of the younger girls.

"Fighting each other," said Madeline with a grimness that surprised those around her. "I'm not sure if that's what they'll have to do, but that would certainly be worse."

Not long later, the Champions were instructed to leave the Great Hall with Ludo Bagman. There were bouts of applause and cheer, and Madeline watched as Cedric stood, kissed him mum on the cheek, and hugged his father. As he made his way to the Entrance Hall, he was glowing with excitement, and the grin across his handsome face was brighter than ever. Cedric then spotted her at the end of the table, registered and expressed his surprise, and shot her a winning grin. She waved and mouthed "good luck," and he nodded and shot her a thumbs-up. He followed the French woman, Viktor Krum, and Harry Potter into the Entrance Hall. Then he was gone.

As everyone else left the hall, Madeline was swept into several waves of students, but once out of the Entrance Hall and onto the grounds, she was pulled aside by McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, who greeted her warmly. They spoke as they walked, as McGonagall seemed anxious to get to the Quidditch pitch.

"Madeline, I hope you are ready," said McGonagall. "Rather than sitting with your house, you will assist us in maintaining the security of the Champions during the task, at Dumbledore's request. We are all quite concerned for their safety."

"Anything I can do," said Madeline with a nod.

"Excellent!" cried Professor Flitwick. "Tell me, how are your friends? Mr. Wood, Miss Denson, Mr. Callaghan, and Mr. Tennant?"

"They're all well. We don't see much of Richard anymore. Oliver's playing for Puddlemere now, first string, and Claire is happily settled at the library in London. Nick is studying to become an Auror. He particularly says hello."

"My, my! What an accomplished bunch! And you have finished your training as a Healer, is that correct?"

"Yes, professor. I've been offered several positions, but I have accepted the one at St Mungo's. I'll be working in the same hospital as my mum!"

"Excellent! What wonderful news. And how is Miss Bradbury?"

"Margaret?" Madeline asked in surprise.

"Yes, Miss Margaret. She was quite talented with Charms, though I understand your confusion... she never wished to appear clever in class. During her examinations, though, she always exceeded my expectations."

"She was the same in my lessons and exams," said McGonagall thoughtfully. "Though I never understood why. Silly girl."

"Margaret's doing well. I see her often. She and Mr. Tennant are an item now."

"Ah. It is a shame you do not see Mr. Callaghan. He was ever such a great student," said Flitwick.

"Yes, yes—all is well with their lot. Now, Filius, once we have arrived at the pitch…"

Madeline stopped listening as McGonagall and Flitwick spoke about their duties, as her thoughts diverted to her friends, new and old. It didn't surprise her to hear that Margaret was more clever than she liked to let on. But Madeline was thankful that Gabriel and Jamila were both joining her at St Mungo's. Jamila was especially thrilled—she'd been wanting to spend more time in England, perhaps with Damien, and now she could!

As they made their way to the pitch with the rest of the students and professors, Madeline noticed that the air was humid and the sky overcast, making the grounds feel darker and more anxious than usual. Once in viewing distance of the Quidditch pitch, Madeline gasped—it wasn't a Quidditch pitch at all, it was overgrown by a massive dark-green hedge in various rows. It was clearly, but surprisingly, a maze.

"They're going in _there_?" she cried, looking at McGonagall, who nodded severely.

"We'll be stationed around the perimeter of the maze. The champions will send up red sparks if they feel the need for assistance, and we will dash in to help them. Of course, they will forfeit the task."

Madeline balked to think that the plant before her stretched for some distance and was, in fact, a _maze_. McGonagall then passed Madeline a large red star, which she placed on the back of her cloak. Just as she was done fidgeting with it, Professor Sprout arrived in haste, giving Madeline a tight hug as she did.

"My _dear_ Madeline Palmer," she said, "I'm so relieved to see you."

"Professor Sprout," cried Madeline.

"Pomona, the two of you will be monitoring the eastern border. Hagrid and Flitwick will take the northern, and Alastor and I the western. Dumbledore and the others will remain at the entrance. Please head to your posts, keep a sharp eye, and I will make arrangements with the others. Good luck, and stay safe," said McGonagall.

"Minerva, what if we rescue someone? Shall we send up a signal so that we don't all rush in?" asked Madeline.

"Yes—a small green spark will do."

They each nodded and took off in their respective directions, wands lit, and Sprout and Madeline spent a fair bit of time walking to the eastern border. Once there, they agreed to stay together until they heard the whistle announcing the start of the final task.

"What's in the middle of the maze, professor?"

"Please, Madeline—call me Pomona. The Triwizard Cup is in the middle of maze, my dear. The first to reach it will win."

"Is it just the maze, or—"

"Apparently there are several obstacles and creatures along the way," said Pomona with a frown. "It took ages for Hagrid, Filius, and I to grow this hedge, and they've been working on the creatures for months now."

Professor Sprout continued explaining how they had to meticulously transition this hedge to the weather and such, and to care for it for optimum growth potential, but Madeline wasn't listening. She was thinking of Cedric and Potter, especially young Potter, who was only—Madeline blanched— _fourteen_.

"Not to mention the charms that Filius and Alastor have placed on the hedges will keep them altering throughout the evening—"

" _What_?" Madeline cried, her ears finally perking up.

"The hedges—have been charmed to _alter_. The maze is neither stationary nor immovable."

Madeline grimaced and looked at the hedge with wide, terrified eyes. She then heard Tonks' voice playing through her head:

 _"Expectations are key—always expect situations to be more dangerous than they seem. As Mad-Eye would say, 'Constant vigilance!'"_

Madeline nodded as if Tonks had spoken the words aloud. Madeline would keep her guard up—she would expect the maze to be more dangerous than even it seemed.

"Madeline, dear, how are—"

 _Wheeeeeeeee!_

It was the whistle signaling the beginning of the task, and Madeline and Sprout glanced at each other and nodded.

"I'll head along further up," said Sprout. "Wait about twenty minutes and then meet me halfway."

"Yes, Prof—Pomona."

As Madeline looked at her watch to manage the time, she heard two other whistles sound, announcing the entrance of the last two competitors. Since they were tied, Potter and Cedric entered first.

Much later, as Madeline made her way towards professor Sprout, she heard a woman—presumably the Beauxbatons student—screaming as if she had been split in two. Stomach clenching painfully, Madeline looked up, watching for red sparks, and saw none. Confused, she wondered if she should enter the maze and find the poor girl just in case. What if she were in real trouble? Her scream didn't sound like a frightened shriek—it had sounded, rather, as if she'd been tortured.

Madeline then wondered how would she possibly break through the hedges to reach any competitor in the maze. She took out her wand, twirled it gently in her right hand, and then remembered the Reductor Curse.

"Reducto," she cried, pointing at the hedge and thinking of kicking open a door.

A Quaffle-sized hole appeared in dark-green hedge, and Madeline nodded, thinking that two shots would let her through. She continued pacing and watching for red sparks, but she saw nothing to give her alarm, so she simply continued walking.

After meeting with Professor Sprout, they both turned back and went in opposite directions. After walking for another half an hour or so, Madeline heard more screaming, this time from a young man. Madeline turned in the direction of the screams, thinking that it sounded like Cedric, and then—a few moments after the screaming ended—she saw red sparks fly up into the air.

Madeline blasted through the maze, glancing around carefully and making her way towards the red sparks. She continued until she saw a body lying on the ground, and then she sent up a single green spark. The body, though, wasn't Cedric's—it was Viktor Krum. He was wide-eyed as though he'd been stupefied, and Madeline immediately levitated him and began jogging south.

To her surprise, the maze shifted as she ran, opening a single passageway for her to find the exit and allowing her to pick up her pace. Amazed at how accommodating the maze was, Madeline sprinted until she exited the maze, mildly shocking those standing around. Breathing hard, Madeline lowered him to the ground near the Beauxbatons woman, who she was pleased to see awake and safe.

"Ah, Miss Palmer. Thank you for returning Mr. Krum to us," said Dumbledore. "How is he?"

"He's been stunned, Headmaster," said Madeline promptly. "I suppose this means that—"

"It's down to Harry and Cedric," said Dumbledore, his bright blue eyes darker than usual. They didn't have the normal Dumbledore twinkle; no, in fact, they looked quite concerned. Madeline turned to the French woman and knelt next to her.

"Are you hurt? I'm a Healer—can I help you?"

She looked up, her eyes red from crying, and shook her head.

"I 'ave been 'ealed by Professor Dumbly-dore," she said. " _Merci_."

" _Bien sûr_ ," said Madeline quickly, hoping her horrible accident didn't offend the young woman. On the contrary, she smiled and nodded.

"Professor, I will head back to my post if I can be of no further assistance here," said Madeline.

Dumbledore smiled briefly at her and nodded, and then he returned his gaze to the maze. Back at her post, she found Professor Sprout, who looked concerned.

"Was it Cedric?"

"No, it was Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang student," said Madeline.

She and Pomona spoke for a few minutes and then resumed their pacing. Madeline walked and walked, wondering how treacherous and difficult the maze could be.

* * *

Ages later, after what felt like hours, Madeline heard more screams, this time coming from the entrance—she broke out running with all speed back to the start of the maze. What she saw there she could hardly comprehend: Dumbledore and McGonagall were crouched on the ground next to two bodies, with one small hand grasping the Triwizard Cup.

She ran up to the queue of professors and Ministry men that were gathering around the bodies, and that was when she saw who it was—Potter and Cedric. And when her eyes took in Cedric's appearance, her heart plummeted into her knees—his eyes were wide, open, and lifeless, his mouth slack….

" _No. Cedric…_ _NO_!" she cried, but no one paid her any mind.

Dumbledore leaned in closer as Potter spoke, and though she heard him, she could not process his words, for her mind was still swirling with Cedric. Potter was clutching Cedric's limp body tightly, his other hand grasping Dumbledore's... Madeline then seemed to grow deaf, as people began shouting and spreading the news that Madeline needed no words to confirm—she'd seen plenty of death in the hospital, and though she could recognize it easily enough, nothing could prepare her for the chasm of grief tearing through her chest. It felt like her ribs had cracked open and a great pool of molten pain had been poured in.

Despite the chaos, Dumbledore managed to pry Potter away from Cedric and get him to his feet with surprising strength. Madeline looked up to see the crowds in the Quidditch stands stirring oddly, their voices swimming with confusion and pain. There were screams and sobs and Madeline's ears continued to block out the majority of the noise. Her mind had switched into work mode. Mad-Eye Moody gruffly shoved past her and tottered up to Potter.

She then saw that Potter's leg was badly injured and that it wouldn't support him for much longer. She turned to look for McGonagall, but people from the crowds were beginning to descend on the pitch, including, she saw with horror, Cedric's father—he collapsed at the head of his son and screamed with such agony as Madeline had never before heard. She thought to join him—to hold and calm him—but that would do no good. She needed to stem the flow of gathering people, she needed to give them all some space to actually _work_ —she needed to heal Potter's leg—

Madeline turned to see that Potter had gone, as had Mad-Eye Moody, and her stomach dropped again. Why would Moody take Potter away from such a scene, especially when she or Dumbledore could have easily healed him? Madam Pomfrey was superb, no doubt, but Madeline hadn't trained and studied so hard just to be considered _useless_. She cast her gaze around again to look for someone—anyone—who could help her—and she spotted Professor Snape, who looked calm but pale.

"Professor Snape!" she cried and ran up to him. He turned to look at her, his eyebrows contracted underneath his curtain of black hair.

"I dunno where he's gone—Moody might've—"

" _Who_ is gone?" he asked, his icy tone hinging on impatient but his gaze serious and concerned.

" _Potter_ ," she said. "I turned around to heal his leg and he was _gone_! Moody's gone too! Why would he take Potter away?"

Snape's dark eyes suddenly grew clear and bright with panic. He cast his gaze around the area and then rushed off without another word. Madeline stomped her foot. Had he not cared? Didn't he believe her? She needed to find someone else to tell—but then she saw Snape speaking to McGonagall. That was taken care of—now she needed to stop the students from reaching the pitch. She ran to the pathway and immediately cast a spell-like barrier to keep students from flooding in. She shouted to them from the other side of the barrier.

"Go back to the castle! All of you—back to the castle _immediately_!" she cried with her most serious and imperious Head-Girl voice. She spotted a few Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Prefects. "Prefects— _go_ —take all the students back to the castle _now_! Protect them!"

Several of them nodded grimly and turned to gather and lead their classmates, and soon Madeline could see a trail of students heading back to the castle. Then, from the crowd surrounding Cedric, Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall rushed past her, running to the castle at a breakneck speed.

Once all the students were no longer trying to flood the pitch, Madeline removed the barrier and returned to the scene, only to be swathed in grief once more. Cedric's mother was wrapped in Sprout's arms, sobbing, while his father was collapsed on his son, crying out about losing his boy, his only son.

It was as though Madeline had stumbled into a dream or had been trapped with a boggart. Cedric—young, kind, beautiful Cedric—was gone from this world. His light was gone. She'd never felt such grief wracking her body, and she'd never felt so... _useless_.

Madeline collapsed next to Amos Diggory and placed her hand on his broad shoulders. He jerked in surprise and cast his tear-stained red face to Madeline.

"Palmer?" he asked, dazed. She nodded, doing her best not to cry. She leaned over, glanced at Cedric, and let her fingers drift to his eyes. As she lowered his lids, she couldn't restrain herself any longer—her face contorted with grief and she let a sob croak from her throat. She placed her hand on Cedric's chest and cried, her other hand still placed firmly on Amos Diggory's back.

They grieved for time unchecked, and Madeline paid little attention to the comings and goings of the Ministry officials and the other professors, many of whom had left not long after Dumbledore.

"I remember the first time he told me of you, Palmer," said Amos some time later.

Madeline lifted her gaze to Cedric's father, her eyes lost and confused. Amos's voice was small and cracking like toffee-almond brittle.

"It was last year, before start of term. It was after he'd received his Captain's letter. I remember him saying, 'Madeline will be so pleased.' And I asked who this 'Madeline' girl was. He said that you were Hufflepuff's fastest Chaser, and that he hoped you would not abandon the team after becoming Head Girl."

Madeline sniffled and held back another sob. That felt like ages ago.

"I told him… he would've made an excellent Head Boy one day," said Madeline, her voice in shambles.

At this, Cedric's mother sobbed and began shaking again, but Pomona held her steady.

* * *

Much later, Madeline felt two hands grasp her shoulders firmly. She looked up, as though in a dream, to see Tonks standing above her. She helped her stand, and soon the two women were embracing tightly, Madeline freely crying.

"Have they found Potter?"

Tonks nodded.

"Potter's safe, he's alright. We need to get everyone back to the castle, including…"

"Cedric?" Madeline asked, her face contorting with pain.

Tonks nodded.

"But first, Dumbledore needs to speak with you."

"Me?" asked Madeline as she wiped the wetness from her face.

Tonks nodded, took Madeline's hand, and led her to the castle. Other Aurors were stationed around, many of them helping the Diggorys move their son. Madeline kept her eyes facing forward as she approached the castle and made her way to the Headmaster's office. Once there, Madeline was surprised to see Cornelius Fudge. Also present were Snape, McGonagall, and a few other Aurors.

"Ah, Palmer, thank you for joining us," said Fudge. "Grim business, but we have a few questions for you."

"Is that alright, Madeline?" asked Dumbledore softly.

Madeline nodded and Fudge sighed.

"You were there, Severus has informed us, when Harry was taken to the castle?" asked Dumbledore. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I saw everyone gathered around Harry and Cedric, and I remember Harry saying that You-Know-Who had returned, and that Cedric had wanted Harry to bring his body back to his parents."

"And then?" prompted Dumbledore gently.

"And then you helped him stand, and I noticed that his leg had been wounded. I remember Moody walking up to him, mostly because he nearly knocked me over in haste. I think I turned to look for McGonagall or someone— _oh_ , and that was when Mr. Diggory arrived, and _everyone_ was screaming—but then I turned around to tend to Harry's leg. That's when I saw that Harry and Moody were both gone. And then I told Professor Snape, and he went to McGonagall."

"And then to me. We could not have known sooner," said Dumbledore.

"Miss Palmer, are you _absolutely_ sure that's what you heard?" asked Fudge.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"The boy said You-Know-Who is back?"

"Harry? He said... 'He's back'." Madeline paused, and screwed up her courage. She could say the bloody name. "Harry said, 'He's back. Voldemort'."

Fudge shivered and twitched, but he was the only one to do so.

"You see, Minister? Cedric's death was no accident," said McGonagall. "He's been _murdered_ by You-Know-Who."

"What nonsense! It was clearly a tragic accident, and the boy's mind has been—"

"It was no _accident_!" cried Madeline suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. "Pardon me, Minister, but are you implying that someone used the Killing Curse on Cedric Diggory _without the intention of killing him_?"

"No, _no_. What I simply meant is that Potter has clearly been through a great ordeal, and we have no proof that You-Know-Who has returned! It is _not_ possible!"

"Unfortunately, Minister, it is quite possible," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Proof? Is Cedric's _dead body_ not proof enough? Harry Potter would not _lie_ about what he has seen! Oliver and I knew him very well, and I can say with complete confidence that he would not exaggerate his own suffering, especially not when a _friend_ has _died_."

"That is quite enough from you, Miss Palmer," said Fudge, his face growing pink.

"I'm afraid I'm not done, sir! Cedric was one of my dearest friends, and I will not have his d _eath_ tarnished by cowardly falsehoods!"

Fudge's face grew quite red, but Madeline was still not done. Her chest ached with grief and fury. Tonks stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Someone silence her, for pity's sake," spat Fudge. "She too has lost her mind."

"I have _not_ , sir, for I am my _mother's daughter_ , and we do not cower from death or hardship. I have seen more grief and death in my _one year_ as a Healer than you will see in your entire lifetime. I saw immediately that Cedric was dead, and I know for a _fact_ that it was the Killing Curse that ended his life. And—"

" _Madeline_ ," said Dumbledore softly, and her voice faltered. He had warned her, reminded her to whom she was speaking. She took a deep breath and reconsidered her words.

"I am grieved, sir, it is true. But do not mistake my anger for delusion. You asked for my opinion—the opinion of a _Healer_ and a _friend_ of both young men in question—and now you have it. I don't want to believe Harry anymore than you do, but I hope, for the sake of Cedric's family and the rest of us, that you reconsider your opinion."

"Get her out of here," said Fudge, nodding at Tonks. To their surprise, McGonagall followed them out of Dumbledore's office. She then offered to let them use her fireplace to return home.

"I was your professor for seven long years," said McGonagall sternly as they walked down the corridor. Madeline could tell, by the tone of her voice, that she was about to receive a mighty lecture. Madeline sighed. She didn't want to hear McGonagall telling her off for sassing the Minister.

"You accomplished a great deal while you were here," continued McGonagall. "You _always_ followed the rules, and you never gave cheek to a professor if you could help it. But I can say, _with complete confidence_ , that I have _never_ been more proud of you, Madeline."

Madeline's eyes snapped to McGonagall, who was smiling. Tonks laughed, which relieved them of some tension.

"Do not regret your words, for they desperately needed to be said," said McGonagall. "Every Auror in that room heard your testimony."

Madeline nodded.

"Oh, there will be stories going around the Ministry of how Olivia and Henry Palmer's daughter gave cheek to the Minister," said Tonks with another laugh.

While Madeline wanted to laugh, she could not. Her heart was too heavy, her mind and body too exhausted.

* * *

Oliver, Nicolas, Claire, and Gabriel were all sitting around waiting for Madeline to return, and when she and Tonks exited the fireplace, Oliver jumped up in alarm at seeing Madeline's condition. She then burst into tears, and Oliver ran to comfort her.

"What's happened?" asked Nicolas as he stood.

"The Triwizard Tournament was a trap. Cedric Diggory is dead," said Tonks steadily. It was clear to Nicolas that she was using her practiced aloofness to control her emotions.

At this, Madeline sobbed again, and collapsed onto her knees. Oliver caught her and carried her to the nearest sofa, where she curled into his body and sobbed.

"Ced's gone," she cried. "And You-Know-Who is back!"

"What?! _How_?" cried Claire. "This cannot be!"

Not even a full second later, someone burst out of the fireplace and everyone jumped. Claire shrieked.

"It's just me," said Lupin's voice as he cleared the dust and soot. Though they all believed him in an instant, as his voice was unique in its timbre and calmness, Tonks raised her wand to him and shouted.

"Expelliarmus!" she cried, jumping to catch his wand as it flew to her.

Lupin appeared neither concerned or angry—he simply sighed.

"Nymphadora, I _am_ Remus John Lupin—"

" _Don't_ call me that—and I'll be doing the asking, thanks," she said, her voice quivering. "Where—where did we have our first meeting Madeline and Claire?"

"At the Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade. Top floor, room 33."

At this, Tonks sighed with obvious relief and tossed the man his wand. He moved closer to them and stood next to Tonks.

"I appreciate your caution, but in the future, your questions need to be more difficult than that. Now—what's happened?"

"What've you heard?" asked Tonks.

"That there was trouble at Hogwarts, but nothing specific—I knew Madeline was there, so I wanted to check here first—"

"Madeline's back—she's safe. It was a _trap_ , Lupin," said Tonks, her voice eerily quiet and shaking. "The whole tournament was a trap for Harry. The Triwizard Cup was a Portkey, and the remaining Death Eaters resurrected You-Know-Who. I'm not sure how, but Harry somehow made it back with Diggory's body—a boy named Cedric Diggory is dead. And Mad-Eye wasn't himself all year—"

At this last bit, her voice broke, and her eyes welled with tears. As Nicolas approached to comfort her, Lupin braced her shoulders with both hands.

"Tonks, you're alright," said Lupin evenly. " _Breathe_."

After she took a minute to calm herself, Lupin nodded.

"Start from the beginning," said Lupin.

"From what I heard Dumbledore explaining to the others, the real Alastor Moody has been trapped since _last September_ in a dungeon chest. D'you remember when someone broke into his house and everyone thought it was a false alarm? Well, he was actually captured, and the man has been pretending to be him ever since."

" _Who_ was it—the man who's been at Hogwarts all this time?"

Tonks hesitated, her eyes flickering closed for a long moment, and then returned her gaze to Lupin.

"You won't believe it," said Tonks. "I didn't believe it either until I saw them taking him back to Azkaban."

"Who was it, Tonks?"

"Barty Crouch Junior," she replied.

" _What_? How can that be? He's _dead_! He died, just after..."

"I _saw_ him with my own eyes—it was him. He's _not dead_. I dunno how—I suppose they faked the funeral? But it was him, and Mad-Eye's been—"

"Is Harry alright? What did he say?"

"Physically, yes, but otherwise…"

"Deeply, _deeply_ shaken, I'm sure," said Lupin quietly. "He's been through so much as it is…"

"All Harry said when he returned—when he used the Portkey back—what that Voldemort had returned, and that Cedric… that Cedric had asked him to bring his body back to his parents," said Madeline.

"But how could he have asked if he was—"

"Dead?" said Madeline bluntly, interrupting Nicolas. "I dunno. I still don't understand it either. But Harry and Cedric must've touched the cup at the same time. They had to. Otherwise they wouldn't have both used the Portkey properly. They must have gotten there at the same time and agreed to a—a— _tie_."

At this, at the thought of the two boys agreeing to tie for the Triwizard Champion, to a unified Hogwarts, Madeline started crying again.

"Barty Crouch Jr. set this trap, and Potter and Diggory fell into it and ended up… where?" asked Nicolas.

"In a graveyard somewhere, from what McGonagall was saying. They needed his father's bones, Harry's blood, and… something else," said Tonks.

"Flesh of the servant," said Lupin, who voice had dropped deeper than they had ever heard it. His face grew steely, his usual soft eyes dark and cold. For the first time ever, Madeline was _afraid_ of Remus Lupin. And then, he sat in a nearby chair, grasped his head, covered his face, and shouted in pain. This surprised everyone, and the room seemed to reverberate the sound of his cry after it was over.

"Lupin…" said Tonks.

"I'm alright," he said a moment later, standing and looking to Tonks. "I must see Albus. He'll be calling on us soon enough."

"Will he—y'know—reinstate the…"

"I'm sure he will," said Lupin quietly. "That is why I must go to him."

"Reinstate what?" asked Nicolas, looking at Tonks. Tonks shook her head, as if she would tell him later.

"They are too young," said Lupin to her quietly. "They do not _know_ —they're—"

"The same age you were?" asked Tonks, her tone icy. "Am I too young as well?"

"Albus will decide, not me," said Lupin, his voice sharper than usual. His gaze turned to them and he sighed. "But he will hear my opinion. They are not ready."

"Why d'you think Minerva asked us to—"

"They're _not ready_!"

" _No one_ is, Lupin! How _could_ we be?"

"I must leave," said Lupin stubbornly. "Madeline, I'm glad you are safe. Oliver, make sure she rests—a sleeping draught should work fine. The rest of you—take the time _now_ to devise questions that only your closest friends will know the answers to. I will explain more on Sunday. Until then—be careful."

They all watched as Lupin disapparated, and Madeline who was still wet-cheeked and shaking, let out breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Oliver then picked her up and carried her into his bedroom. After taking the sleeping draught, Madeline gently slid into a dreamless, restful sleep.

* * *

 **Chapter 17: Funeral**

An awful silence lingered in the air, but Olivia Palmer was the first to recover.

"Maddie, we understand how you are feeling, but would you just let us explain—"

"He asked for my professional opinion and _I gave it_ ," she snapped.


	17. Funeral

**Chapter 17: Funeral**

"Success supposes endeavor." - Mr. Knightly

* * *

 _Madeline Palmer stood in the same corridor, in front of the same closed double doors, as Charlie Weasley. Madeline stared down at her shoes while Charlie whistled inconsistent notes, as though trying to recreate a song he couldn't properly remember._

 _After several minutes, he stopped whistling._

 _"I'm sorry," said Charlie._

 _He glanced at the 13-year-old girl standing a metre or so away. Her reddish-brown hair, though it was plaited, was windswept and disheveled. Her school bag was lying next to her, all but forgotten. Charlie found his eyes drawn to a pair of small, yellow-and-black ribbons neatly intertwined around one of the bag's fastenings. He knew without asking that the girl was skiving off some lesson to check on the Gryffindor Keeper, who was seriously injured in his first ever match._

 _"It's not your fault. It's the game," said Madeline._

 _"He's going to be alright," he replied. "He's a tough lad."_

 _"I dunno what I'll do if he's not," she replied. "I just…."_

 _As her voice trailed away, McGonagall exited the Hospital Wing and glanced at the pair of them._

 _"Miss Palmer, aren't you supposed to be in Potions?"_

 _"It doesn't matter," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "Nothing matters."_

 _"It_ does _matter," said McGonagall sternly. Her lips went quite thin. "Your future and your education_ both matter _, Miss Palmer, even in times of adversity. Most_ especially _then."_

 _"Is he alright, professor?" asked Charlie, hoping to skip the lecture._

 _"_ Of course _he is," she said bracingly, straightening her back as she spoke with confidence. "Madam Pomfrey knows what she's doing. You both should return to your classes immediately."_

 _"I'm not leaving," said Madeline, who slid down the wall to take a seat next to her school bag. She crossed her arms in an attempt to look both stubborn and formidable. "I should be in there with him, not trapped out here."_

 _"Miss Palmer, you are neither the first nor the last to be worried about a friend in the Hospital Wing. I assure you that Mr. Wood will be quite alright_ without _your supervision."_

 _"He still hasn't woken up, has he?" Madeline asked, looking fearful and angry daggers at McGonagall._

 _McGonagall said nothing, and the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain glanced between them. McGonagall's stoic, thin-lipped expression told Madeline everything she needed to know._

 _"He's like my brother," she said, tears leaking from her eyes. "Nothing could change that."_

 _"Puberty might," mumbled Charlie Weasley._

* * *

Under the influence the sleeping draught, Madeline slept deeply and dreamlessly. She awoke with a distinct feeling of unease, but she was comforted by Oliver's weight next to her. She moved closer to him and he instinctually pulled her closer. These were habits formed by months of practice, and Madeline was able to ascertain Oliver's presence without having to really think about it at all.

Some moments, minutes, or hours later later, she opened her eyes blearily, noticing that the room was bright with sunlight and that Oliver was looking far more awake than she felt.

"Morning," he said, kissing her forehead and stroking the top of her head with his fingers. The light, consistent pressure of his fingers was soothing. Her scalp often felt tense, especially when she'd been wearing her hair up in a knot or plaited.

"Mmm," she replied, groaning and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Nearly noon. How're you feeling?" Oliver asked, still touching her hair.

This question wasn't a normal morning greeting, and Madeline knew something was wrong. She could feel it, even if she didn't understand it. Why'd she slept so long?

"Fine," she said, not thinking. "Why'm I so tired?"

She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes—when she finally looked Oliver fully in the face, she saw his concern, and something cold dropped into her chest.

Then, as if she'd tried to banish the memory and failed, everything from the night before flashed into her mind's eye, an oddly jumbled collection of horrible scenes. She looked at Oliver intently. She felt awake now.

"Tell me… tell me it was all a bad dream," she said, her eyes stinging. She knew the truth, but she didn't want to face it. It was too terrible.

Oliver's expression of sympathy, of fear, of pain… it all confirmed what she knew to be true. His brown eyes looked oddly dark in the brightness of the room, furrowed under a concerned brow. The events of the previous night hadn't been fabricated. They really happened.

The cold thing in her chest slid into her stomach as her mind's eye flashed images of Cedric as she had known him. It occurred to her with a pang that he would never marry or start a family. Cedric was gone. He was inexplicably and utterly gone. She'd never again see his bashful grin, his grey eyes bright with amusement, or his lopsided frown when Quidditch hadn't gone his way. She'd never know if he would make a great Head Boy, as she'd always thought. She wouldn't know how his relationship with Cho Chang might turn out. She'd never ever hear his voice… ever again.

These thoughts and images, vague and twisting like in a dream, clouded her mind. She felt her chest tighten, her eyes sting, and her throat burn.

 _Cedric is gone._

"Maddie, it's alright. You're alright."

She heard him but didn't believe him. She wasn't alright. She really, really wasn't.

* * *

An hour or two later, when Madeline was finally able to leave her bed, Oliver led her to the kitchen and forced her to eat some toast. Though she didn't have anything of an appetite, she ate to appease him, to make him think she was alright. Seeing Oliver's expression mingling with pity and pain was nearly enough to send her spiraling back into her grief.

Claire and Nicolas were watching Madeline quietly from the living area, and Madeline ignored them. When she could no longer do so, Claire brought her three sealed rolls of parchment.

 _Mail? For me?_

This stunned thought penetrated Madeline's dulled senses as Claire handed her the letters.

"I'm sorry," said Claire. "These two are unmarked, and this one is from McGonagall."

Madeline wasn't sure was Claire was apologizing for, but she didn't care to ask. She took the three scrolls, sat at the desk in the corner of the room, and opened the one from McGonagall first, since it appeared to be the thinnest roll and briefest message. And so it was:

 _Dear Madeline,_

 _I am determined that we still meet on Sunday, despite the events of last night. Write back soon with your thoughts._

 _Minerva_

Madeline sighed. She hadn't been expecting this. She thought McGonagall would've been too busy to give her the time of day, let alone an entire afternoon of work and attention. Madeline knew she was growing closer to the more difficult portions of Animagus studies, but would McGonagall want to continue? Madeline suddenly doubted that she had the time, patience, or skill.

Ignoring these questions, Madeline opened the next letter, which was slightly thicker. As she unfurled it, Oliver approached with a cup of tea.

"Alright?" he asked.

Madeline nodded in response and thanked him without looking up.

Oliver hovered near the desk awkwardly for a moment, not sure if he could question her about the letters, and then he decided to join Nicolas and Claire on the sofas instead. Once she was alone, she began reading the second letter. It was from her mother.

 _Maddie,_

 _Your friend Mr. Cohen has notified St Mungo's of what's happened, but it would be best if you came in tomorrow and explained everything in person. Also, your father and I would like to have you (and Oliver, if he'd like) for dinner tonight. Please let me know if you can make it. Mostly we just want to see you._

 _Love,_

 _Mum_

Madeline sighed and nodded. Of course—she'd completely forgotten about work. How could her job matter when Cedric had been _murdered_? How did anything at all matter? How could she face St Mungo's without thinking about how she'd been helpless to save her friend? What did her knowledge matter, anyway? Hadn't the Minister himself taught her that she was useless?

Tears sprang afresh into Madeline's eyes, but she kept silent and unrolled the third and longest scroll of parchment. She didn't recognise the handwriting, so her eyes scanned to the bottom first before reading the contents. It read:

 _Sincerely,_

 _Fiona Worthy_

Madeline stared in surprise at both the unfamiliar name and the length of the letter. She didn't know that name—Fiona Worthy—at all. Who the ruddy hell was this woman, and why had she written at such an awful time?

 _Miss Madeline Palmer,_

 _My name is Fiona, and I am writing on behalf of my dear sister, Vera Diggory, who lost her only son, Cedric, last night. She told me that you were present on the Hogwarts grounds when everything happened and that you were a close friend of my nephew._

 _Firstly, I want to thank you for comforting my sister and brother-in-law while they grieved over their son's death. This has been a truly horrible day, and I'm not personally certain that the worst is over. We shall see. I am trembling horribly as I write these bitter but necessary invitations._

 _Secondly, I am writing to secondly invite you to Cedric's funeral, which will take place Friday at 10 am at Vera and Amos's house and then the family cemetery a ways outside of Ottery St. Catchpole._

 _I work in the Ludicrous Patents Office, in the same department as your father, and when I spoke with him this morning, he assured me that you would do your best to attend the services if invited. Mr. Oliver Wood is also welcome to attend, as Henry mentioned that he might be of comfort to you._

 _Please confirm when possible regarding your attendance._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Fiona Worthy_

A sob broke from Madeline's chest as she bent her head over onto the desk. She couldn't read the letter more than once. Was this not too soon? How could she possible bear to watch Cedric being buried? The pain swelled in her chest like a massive barb-covered balloon.

"Maddie?"

Oliver's soft and tentative voice appeared beside her, and then she felt the pressure of his hand on her back. She sat up far enough to collect the letters and hand them to him. He held them with a frown and began reading. Madeline continued crying into her arms.

"I can write for you," said Oliver several minutes later. He kneeled next to her. "Just tell me what to say."

Madeline sniffed and collected herself, and although it took several long minutes, she sat up, wiped her face, and turned to meet Oliver's soft gaze.

"I'll write them. They'll be brief," she said, sniffing again. Her voice sounded as though she'd developed a bad cold, and she couldn't breathe through her nose.

"You sure?"

Madeline nodded and Oliver handed the rolls of parchment back to her.

* * *

That night, Madeline and Oliver apparated to her parents' house and joined them for dinner. After several minutes of rather forced small talk, in which they discussed the weather, Hugh the dog, and Oliver's success in the League, Madeline's lack of interest and cheer brought everyone back to a sober reality. They ate, and afterwards, Henry asked Madeline to tell them, if she could, what happened. Madeline was not shy about explaining everything she could recall. She even included, as if stating everything for the record, her argument with the Minister of Magic. After Madeline had finished including all the details, her parents glanced at each other.

"Thank you for your honesty, Maddie," said Henry, his voice as calm as ever. "But I must tell you that your interaction with Fudge was not forgotten or taken lightly."

"What?" asked Madeline, confused as to why her father would know such a thing. Madeline heard her mother sigh and she glanced between them. "What've I done?"

"Fudge is now questioning your father's loyalty to the Ministry," said Olivia. "Because you had to get cheeky with him."

" _Get cheeky with him_?" Madeline repeated, her tone of mingling anger and disbelief. Her voice then rang, quite clearly, with grief and pain. " _Cedric died_."

"That doesn't mean you can—"

"MY. FRIEND. WAS. MURDERED."

An awful silence lingered in the air, but Olivia Palmer was the first to recover.

"Maddie, we understand how you are feeling, but would you just let us explain—"

"He _asked_ for my professional opinion _and I gave it_ ," she snapped.

Though Olivia Palmer looked ready to retort again, Henry interrupted.

"Yes, well, regardless—this cannot happen again," said Henry quickly. "You've got to play _their_ game, Madeline."

Madeline registered her father's use of her full name and couldn't quite meet his gaze. It was his way of expressing disappointment.

"Game?" asked Oliver, frowning.

"It's _all_ a game," said Olivia exasperatedly. "The Ministry, the hospital—even Quidditch teams. If you can't learn to play the game, you don't survive, especially in times like these."

Madeline nodded, though she'd rather felt like shouting again. She'd noticed in her time at the hospital in New York how easy it was for some people to get their way and how others—like Gabriel—were often frustrated about their lack of success. Madeline glanced at Oliver to see that he, too, was contemplating this information.

Even at Hogwarts, she thought, there was a game to play. And Madeline had gotten so damn good at it that Dumbledore had made her Head Girl! But now, here in the real world, the consequences seemed suddenly far more serious. There weren't Houses and Dumbledore to rely on. You had just yourself and those closest to you.

"D'you believe him?" asked Olivia, looking at her daughter. "Do you believe Potter?"

"Yes," said Madeline with as much gravity as she could muster. "I saw his anguish and horror, I saw his broken leg and mangled arm. I saw the way he clung to Cedric as if refusing to believe he was gone. So, yes, I believe Harry Potter. You-Know-Who has returned."

This little speech was met with another silence that Madeline refused to think of as disbelieving, and a cold thrill ran through her body, causing the hairs on her arm to stand on end. She didn't care if her parents believed Potter's story; she knew the truth. She'd seen the poor boy's face. And yet… Fudge had too, and he still didn't believe him. What did that say of her evidence?

"I believe you," said Henry Palmer, breaking the silence. "But let me clear—precious few others will. Fudge is already isolating people who are close to Dumbledore. Mark my words, Fudge will fight this with all he has."

"Why?" asked Madeline. "He was _there_. He saw Potter just as well as I did!"

"Because he's _terrified_ ," said Henry. "Terrified of the truth—the dark times were too much to bear for most. Admitting that You-Know-Who has returned would be _devastating_ … as if… as if the last fifteen or so years of peace have been a joke."

"But if he has returned… surely we have to be prepared?" asked Oliver.

Olivia and Henry glanced at him with pity.

"Prepared how?" asked Henry carefully.

"Prepared… in ways we couldn't've been at Hogwarts," he said.

Madeline distinctly noticed his hesitation to continue, and she took it as a mark of his planning to keep their lessons with Tonks and Remus a secret. Their parents didn't need to know.

"We will share with you what we know, when the time comes," said Olivia. "For now, keep your heads down and don't stir up trouble with anyone from the Ministry."

Madeline thought to protest, even opened her mouth to do so, but Oliver's hand had covertly made his way to her left thigh, effectively silencing her. This was not a battle worth fighting. They had more important work to do. Madeline sighed, and when they returned to their own home that night, Oliver swore to her that they would not be caught unprepared.

* * *

The funeral on Friday was a horrendous, unfulfilling affair that provided very little closure.

That morning, before they departed, Madeline cried for nearly an hour. Oliver, though frustrated that there was little he could do to ease her pain, forced her to take a Calming Draught that Claire had cleverly made the day before. When the time came, they donned their nicest black dress robes and took a small shot of scotch before using the Floo to arrive at the Diggory home.

Upon arrival, Madeline and Oliver were greeted by a kindly looking woman in grey dress robes. The house was rather quiet, but she could hear voices speaking throughout a few rooms and the sniffling of someone nearby.

"Your names?" she asked, her eyes guarded but soft.

"Madeline Palmer and Oliver Wood," said Madeline.

"Ah, yes, Miss Palmer—I'm Fiona. Thank you for coming. Right this way."

Madeline had never felt more emotionally attacked than during the long hours in close proximity with Cedric's grieving family. There were photographs of Cedric everywhere, from his time as a wee boy to the summer before he left for Hogwarts for the final time, and they all smiled and waved at her with a joy that Madeline couldn't stand. She couldn't look at them with her lips quivering and eyes and throat stinging. In addition to this emotional torture, all his relatives either asked about "the truth" of Cedric's death—thinly veiling their disbelief in Harry Potter's story—or ogled Oliver and asked about Quidditch. Madeline and Oliver were both surprised to find that people actually knew him by name.

Later, while Oliver was being asked about playing against the Tornados, Madeline made a break for the toilet and wandered upstairs into the seemingly unoccupied space of the house. It was peaceful to be in an area void of photographs and people, and Madeline took several deep breaths while alone. But on the first room on the right off the landing, Madeline found Mrs. Diggory sitting on a bed and sobbing into a thin, white handkerchief.

Madeline thought better of interrupting, but the click of her heels had already been heard, and the woman looked up—she had the same grey eyes as her son—and arrested Madeline with her gaze.

"Madeline—you've made it," she said weakly, her voice trembling. She stood. "So—so glad you could."

"I'm sorry," Madeline muttered quickly. "I was just—"

"Come in, and shut the door, quickly."

Unsure of how to proceed, but thankful for an opportunity to not be back downstairs, Madeline did as she was told. Mrs. Diggory was dressed in bright blue dress robes that did not reflect the grief she was feeling, and she patted her hand next to her on the bed.

"Mrs. Diggory," said Madeline softly, "I'm… so sorry. About everything. I… I tried to tell him…"

At this, Madeline's voice broke, and it took her several minutes of trying to restrain sobs and dabbling her eyes with a tissue to collect herself.

"I tried to convince him not to enter the tournament. I told him that it was dangerous, that I was scared. But he—he didn't listen," she said, sobbing again.

The two women held each other for several moments as Madeline slowly came back to herself.

"You cannot blame yourself," she said, her voice stronger than before. "Anyway. I'm glad you came—I wanted to speak with you, but I needed a good reason."

Madeline dabbed her eyes again and then looked at Cedric's mum with confusion.

"Amos would've been suspicious if I invited you over on any other day," she said. "It didn't take much to convince him to let you come, since you knew him so well. But I wanted to hear from you—d'you know—is there _any_ evidence that—that Potter… well, that he really escaped from You-Know-Who _again_? Is he… _really_ back?"

This was not the conversation Madeline had expected to have, and it took her a few moments of blinking blankly at Cedric's mother to regain her wits. She steeled herself and took a deep breath before speaking.

"As I told the Minister when he asked for my professional opinion, Cedric was killed by the Avada Kedavra curse. There is little other evidence, other that Potter's injuries, his terror, his _word_. Only I reckon that people don't accidently _use_ or simply _stumble upon_ such a curse. It takes a great deal of power to use it, and I personally cannot think of a person I know who would give it a go for curiosity's sake."

Mrs. Diggory nodded, but Madeline could tell by the pressure of her lips that she was not satisfied with that answer.

"This Ministry is reporting it as a tragic accident, I take it?"

"No one wants to believe Harry Potter's story. It's too…"

"Terrifying?"

"You don't remember the dark times, d'you?"

"I was a child," Madeline whispered. "I remember snippets… mostly I remember the fear."

Mrs. Diggory nodded.

"My husband and others at the Ministry… they're convinced Dumbledore is trying to stir up trouble," she said, her eyes growing wet again. "I dunno what to do… what to _tell_ people…."

Madeline took a deep breath and then touched her arm.

"You don't owe anyone anything," said Madeline. "And if you believe, as I do, as Albus Dumbledore does, that Harry Potter _did not lie_ about the circumstances of your son's death… then I think you have every right to tell people exactly what you believe. Oliver knew Harry at school, y'know, was his Quidditch Captain. That boy… he's not like Rita Skeeter has been trying to paint him."

"I've never trusted that Skeeter woman," she said, with feeling. "Completely omitted Cedric from everything."

"I saw the look of utter devastation on Harry's face when he told Dumbledore. He couldn't have made that up… it's just not possible."

"I believe you," she said, nodding earnestly. "The problem is that no one else will."

* * *

On Sunday, Madeline arrived at McGonagall's home at precisely 2 pm, as instructed in her most recent correspondence, and she was surprised to see that Dumbledore was sitting at the dining room table. She swept the dust and ashes off her robes as she joined them both in the dining room, which could be seen from the fireplace.

"Headmaster—what're you doing here?"

"Hello, Miss Palmer," said Dumbledore with a smile.

Madeline took a deep breath. She wasn't sure she understood or liked where this meeting, which was clearly _not_ an average meeting with her mentor, would take her. McGonagall indicated the seat next to her, which Madeline took without a word.

"I am sorry to intrude on your lessons, but I was hoping to speak with you. Is that alright?" asked Dumbledore gently.

Madeline thought she had a good idea what this conversation would entail, and she wasn't sure she was up for it. Emotionally or otherwise.

"Is it about Cedric? Or… Potter?"

"Perhaps, but I must confess that I'm more interested in talking about _you_."

"Me?" she asked, surprise etching into her eyebrows. Internally, Madeline squirmed. "What about me?"

"Would you like any tea? Biscuits? Coffee?" asked McGonagall, who was looking at Madeline.

"Tea, please, thank you," she replied.

Madeline had grown accustomed to seeing McGonagall comfortable and more relaxed in her own home, but it was still strange to see McGonagall in such a private, homey space. She definitely belonged and looked most at home in her classroom.

"Yes. Let us start with this: how do you feel?" asked Dumbledore.

Madeline was taken aback by this question. Oliver had asked this question several times, gingerly, as if afraid she might snap in two. But Dumbledore asked gently, kindly. As if he truly wanted to know.

"I… dunno. I suppose I feel as though I'm… I'm… treading water, fatigued, and afraid I might drown," said Madeline, surprised at the metaphor. Her thoughts flickered to Oliver. He'd know the feeling. "Not sure… if I can keep it up much longer."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were bright beneath his moon-shaped glasses, so Madeline knew that despite the seriousness of the meeting, Dumbledore was still optimistic. This was a relief.

"Grief can feel suffocating," he said with a nod. "You are not alone in that regard, I assure you."

Madeline nodded. Her gaze met McGonagall's, but she only smiled grimly and looked back down to the tea cup in her hand. She placed the tea cup close to Madeline and passed a napkin just after. Madeline thanked her, and a tense silence settled into the room.

"I want to thank you, Madeline, for showing real courage by confronting the Minister that evening in my office," said Dumbledore with a smile. "I'm sure the news has reached your parents?"

"Oh yes," said Madeline with a frown. "It certainly has."

"You could have taken the easier path, the less risky path, by conforming to the Minister's perspective of the evening, yet you did not. You persevered."

"I spoke the truth," said Madeline simply.

"The truth," said McGonagall sharply, "is already being twisted and contorted into repulsive falsehoods. The _truth_ as you know it will be concealed for as long as possible."

These words agitated Madeline, who shook her head in response.

"My parents… Mrs. Diggory… they've all said the same thing. _I don't understand_. Why can't people just accept that something terrible's happened?"

"Because some people, Madeline, are afraid of the truth," said Dumbledore. "You are not. This was obvious to me long before I chose you as the Head Girl. You have the ability to discern the truth and fight for it, even if it costs friendships. That is why I have come to speak to you."

At this, Dumbledore took a break to sip his tea and have a few biscuits, and Madeline was thankful for the moments to think.

 _Afraid of the truth? Haven't I ever been afraid of some truth or another?_

It made sense, though, as she started processing his words. She was always the one to stand up for what she believed to be the truth, as ridiculous as that sounded. Her mind conjured several instances in which she upset Oliver, Nicolas, Claire, or Richard for calling out their rule-breaking behavior. Especially in regard to Oliver's flaring temper. Yet… hadn't she broken a few rules on occasion?

It was Elaine who reminded Madeline that she was a Hufflepuff and her friends were not. For so long, she didn't understand how they could be so different. But Hufflepuffs… _true Hufflepuffs_ … they always played a small role in fighting for justice. In doing the right thing. It was Helga Hufflepuff _alone_ who taught anyone willing to learn. Madeline felt something warm grow in her chest.

"I'm afraid," said Madeline with a nod. "I am afraid of many things. But the truth, in this instance, is not one of them."

At these words, McGonagall and Dumbledore glanced at each other.

"Voldemort _has_ returned," said Dumbledore quietly.

At these words, Madeline and McGonagall both closed their eyes and tightened their lips. Madeline was not accustomed to hearing his name, but she supposed she needed to get used to it.

"He has regained a physical body and his faithful followers have been recalled to his side. However, I believe he will not do anything to draw attention to himself at the present. For now, he will let the uncertainty of Harry's story settle in and cause divisions. But we who know and understand the truth must act quickly. I have already begun alerting those who will not shy away from the truth."

"Like Tonks and Remus," said Madeline quietly.

"Precisely," said McGonagall.

"Voldemort has already begun gathering those loyal to him, and he will work to gain new supporters. Our primary concern, for now, will be spreading the truth to all who will listen."

"You think I can help with that?" asked Madeline.

"I do. And, if you are willing to help, I can tell you more," said Dumbledore, who pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his crooked nose. "During his first ascent to power, I established a secret organization that worked tirelessly to combat Voldemort and his forces. We have no choice but to reinstate the organization and begin our work anew. Does this interest you?"

" _Interest me_?" asked Madeline. This almost felt like an absurd question… how could she be interested in _fighting_ _Lord Voldemort_? The absurdity of it made her emit a sharp, hollow laugh.

"Would you be willing to join? To fight against You-Know-Who?" asked McGonagall, her tone urgent.

Madeline did not respond for several long moments. She had too much to consider.

"What would… joining entail? What would it mean for me, for… _Oliver_ ," she said, breathing his name in nearly a whisper. "Surely you cannot expect me to make such a decision without consulting him… can you?"

Dumbledore's hands came together, his fingertips touching one another. He closed his eyes and McGonagall huffed. How could they have not anticipated this concern?

"Madeline, you're quite capable of making your own decisions," said McGonagall said tartly.

"Except this isn't about _just me_ ," said Madeline quickly. "Unless I'm mistaken in my understanding of this secret dark-forces fighting group or whatever, such a commitment would affect my _entire_ life, especially my… especially Oliver. _All_ my friends and loved ones. Every relationship that I have. I can't make this decision without being informed and without consulting him."

Madeline sat back and crossed her arms. She knew McGonagall to be a strong and independent woman, and perhaps she thought Madeline weak for wanting to consider Oliver's opinion, but Madeline didn't care.

"You are correct, Madeline, that there are inherent dangers and risks to consider," said Dumbledore. "But we cannot give you details until you have been sworn into the Order."

"Well, could you tell me what it would be like? What happened last time?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "If that is what you would like"

Madeline looked carefully at McGonagall and Dumbledore, and then she nodded.

"Many of the original Order of the Phoenix did not survive. We were severely outnumbered and underprepared. We were far less certain about Voldemort's goals and patterns. Now, though, we _are_ prepared. _Because_ Harry survived and immediately alerted me of Voldemort's return, we know he's back, and I have an idea of what he will try to accomplish. Members of the Order are gathering intelligence for us as we speak."

"Remus believes we are too young to join," said Madeline after a few moments' silence. "He and Tonks… they argued about it briefly. I didn't know, then, what they were talking about, but I understand now."

"Yes, and he expressed his concerns to me," said Dumbledore. "I reminded him that as an adult witch who has graduated from school, you are free to make your own choices."

"You believe I'm prepared for this?" asked Madeline. "You don't think I'm too inexperienced?"

"You are, by nature of your circumstances in life, inexperienced. Yet we were all inexperienced once, including myself. But I have faith in you, yes," said Dumbledore.

"So… if I joined this 'Order,' would I have to keep it a secret from everyone? From Oliver and Claire and… all my friends and family?"

"Yes, unless they join the Order as well," said McGonagall.

"So why aren't they here? Haven't you invited Claire, Nick, or Oliver?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that information," said Dumbledore. "It is an individual decision. You must know your own mind, your own heart, in order to decide. It is entirely up to you. If you are worried about keeping your membership a secret, I assure you that we can be of assistance. We are quite experienced in the matter."

Madeline sighed. They wouldn't tell her if Claire, Nicolas, or Oliver had already joined or not. She assumed that Remus and Tonks were involved, but beyond them, she couldn't think of others who would be a part of this group.

"Will I have to lie to Oliver, if he's not in the Order?"

Slowly, almost painfully, McGonagall nodded and Madeline's frown deepened.

"Minerva, I _can't_ lie to him. He knows me too well. He'll see right through it. And, when he eventually finds out, he's going to be _furious_ ," she said, her face contorting with emotion. Her hands fly to her face as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I can't… I can't deal with this right now."

"You will not be alone," said Dumbledore, his voice soothing. "We are not asking you to be our own personal army. We simply want those who are brave, those will fight, to be prepared to face the future."

The word _prepared_ , the word Oliver had used, caught her attention. Of course she wanted to be _prepared_.

"Tonks and Remus have already taught us so much," said Madeline. "What more is there?"

"There's always more to learn, Madeline," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Always."

Madeline nodded. This was certainly true.

"Why me?" Madeline asked, looking Dumbledore right in his bright blue eyes. His eyes reminded her of Nicolas, and she felt slightly mollified.

"Because you _believe_ ," said Dumbledore with feeling. "Because you have one of the strongest hearts I've ever seen—because you have an immense, unshakeable _faith_ in the power of love and truth—"

"Professor," she said, shaking her head at and interrupting the Headmaster, "I'm not a wide-eyed first-year anymore. I don't need to be _flattered_. What do you _need from me_?"

Dumbledore chuckled, though McGonagall looked rather offended, and he smiled at Madeline fully.

"We need someone in St Mungo's we can trust," he replied. "You'd simply be gathering information for us and keeping an eye on certain people. I'm afraid we can tell you no more than that until you join."

 _St Mungo's_ , thought Madeline with something like relief. She nodded. _Of course_.

"Just gathering information? Just… a pair of eyes and ears on the ground?" asked Madeline.

"Precisely," said McGonagall.

Madeline thought this over for a few minutes and frowned. Her mind kept coming back to Oliver, as if it were on a loop.

"I still can't keep this from Oliver," said Madeline. "I—I don't know how I could avoid telling him—especially if I'm gone for long periods of time—"

"We're not sending you on some secret mission," said McGonagall, with a tone of impatience. "You'd just be reporting about the goings-on of the hospital at which you are currently employed."

"Spying on my coworkers, then?" Madeline asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes," said McGonagall. "And the patients, too, on occasion."

Madeline sighed.

"I won't come out of this unscathed, I suppose," she replied. "There are so many risks, so many dangers that I can't even imagine… ever since Cedric died, I've understood more and more. People in this group… members of this 'Order of the Phoenix'… they're going to die, aren't they?"

"People are going to die regardless," said McGonagall, her voice trembling in a way that was new to Madeline. It was like a swig of warm emotion. "And if we do nothing, Muggleborns will be targeted until they're all but gone. Muggles will be tortured, like they were at the World Cup, quite regularly. And everyone in between will spend the rest of their lives wondering if they can trust anyone at all. And yes, Madeline, a lot of people will die."

Madeline felt her chest grow painful and her eyes burn. Her options were painful to her—she either had to help this secret organization fight You-Know-Who and keep it from Oliver and the others, or she had to walk away and regret not helping, not doing her part. Her mind's eye, sensing her preference, conjured images of Tonks, Remus, and countless others dead and strewn about her feet, just as Cedric had been. She shook her head, hoping to rid herself of the image, and wiped her wet eyes.

"Can you promise me that I will simply be assigned to monitoring St Mungo's, and that if my assignment changes, I can notify Oliver?"

"We can arrange something, yes," said Dumbledore heavily. "You will be able to tell him eventually. Just not yet. He is not ready."

" _Not ready_?" Madeline asked in shock, gazing at Dumbledore intently. "He's not a bloody apple tree!"

"He's a man in love," said Dumbledore gently.

This sentence startled Madeline, and her eyes grew wide. She knew this to be true, but to hear from Albus Dumbledore's mouth, to hear it spoken as a _boundary_ … felt like a slap in the face.

"He's not _ever_ going to be alright with the idea of losing me," said Madeline defensively. "Nor I him. It took me months to—"

No, Madeline thought, they didn't near to hear that. She wasn't sure if she ever believed that Oliver was truly suicidal.

"I don't understand," said Madeline, interrupting herself awkward, "how I'm more 'ready' than the others. It just sounds like I'm more _useful_. Which—I understand. But don't tell me I've got some heart of gold and expect me to just _give in_. I want to help, really, but I also can't deceive the one person I've sworn to never deceive."

"You will only be responsible for attending a few meetings," said Dumbledore. "You can simply say that you are meeting Minerva more frequently, which will, incidentally, be very true."

Madeline thought about this and frowned. She didn't like it, but he was correct.

"He's going to be _so angry_ when he finds out. _When_ ," Madeline repeated, for good measure. " _Not if_."

"We shall cross that bridge when we come to it," said Dumbledore with a small smile. "He will understand… one day."

"Is that an agreement?" asked McGonagall, her lips less tense than before.

"Yes," said Madeline heavily. "What's next?"

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Fool's Gold**

Then, quite unexpectedly, Joanna Rateliff walked in. She did not seem surprised to see Madeline; in fact, she walked straight to her, smirking all the while.

"I saw your interaction with Cass," said Rateliff. "I almost swooped in for the rescue, but you seemed to have it under control."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Honestly, the more you pester me, the faster I will be about posting. B/c I'm in school, it's easy to set this aside and forget about it. I have all the ideas, but the organization is still a bit fuzzy. So thank you for the reminders, reviews, and private messages. Keep 'em coming (please)! :3 :3 :3


	18. Fool's Gold

**Chapter 18: Fool's Gold**

"The potency of knowledge depends on how and when it is used." – Rex Stout

* * *

 _July 1993_

It was the summer before their seventh year at Hogwarts, and Madeline couldn't find Oliver. He wasn't at the pitch in the forest or at the lake, his two normal haunts, nor was he at the Wood or Palmer house. She walked through the town briefly, quickly, but didn't see him there either. Once she had returned to her house, she grabbed her broom and took to the skies. He wasn't above the clouds, either. Frustrated and feeling the spark of fear, Madeline flew to the few other places they'd ever gone together—places she knew by heart, even if she couldn't tell someone how to get there.

After several hours of flying over the brownish-grey moors, the dark blue lochs, and the scarcely-snow-capped bens, she saw a glimpse of a red t-shirt and dropped her broom into a dive. She'd found him. _Finally._

Oliver was standing along a line of evergreen trees, his red t-shirt clear against the browns and greens. He was looking up at her. Once both her feet were on the ground, she stormed over to him.

" _Oliver Wood_! Where on earth have you _been_?! You've had me worried _sick_!"

Oliver shrugged, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and Madeline knew he was still in a weird, inscrutable mood. He'd been bloody _inscrutable_ all summer, and it was really starting to annoy her. They were standing near a large, hilly field that led up towards one of the mountains she didn't know by name. There were white, fluffy dots of sheep on the green slopes and hardly any signs of Muggle civilisation anywhere.

Oliver stood, his back against the tree, looking up at the mountain range. The mountains weren't as spectacular as the ones near their homes, but they were nice enough. But Madeline didn't look—she was staring at him, thankful to have found him and angry at herself that he was still angry at her.

"You've been avoiding me," she said matter-of-factly.

No reply. She needed to change tack. She felt her skin sear with doubt and confusion, and her tone then shifted to something more throaty and laden with emotion.

" _Oliver_ —you've _never_ flown all the way here without me. _What's going on_?"

"I just needed some time alone," he said, his voice more brusque than she expected.

"Away from me."

He didn't respond, and Madeline sighed. Some of the sheep bleated in the distance, a gust of wind stirred through the trees. His silence often meant the affirmative.

"Is it about this morning?"

"No."

"Ol, don't _lie_ to me."

"You should know by now that I _don't_ lie to you."

"Oh, so this _isn't_ about my teasing you? Look, I _know_ I upset you, and I'm sorry. _I really am_. I've been regretting it the past—what—six hours of searching for you?"

Oliver shrugged his eyebrows, as though sarcastically impressed, and Madeline lost it.

"And now you can't accept a simple _apology_? I'm not the only one who thinks you fancy her! In fact, you can blame the twins, actually, they've been—"

"I don't date my teammates!" he shouted, balling his hands into fists and shaking them. "As I've said a million times! For _years_ now! _Katie knows that_. _Everyone knows that_."

"People don't care what you say, they care what you _do_ —"

"And what have I done, Madeline!? What could I've _possibly_ done to make people think that I _secretly_ want to _date_ Katie Bell?!"

To this, Madeline was silent.

"Ah, yes! Precisely. _Nothing_."

Again, Madeline stayed quiet. She wanted to let him be angry. He was her oldest friend, and he needed to trust that he could share his thoughts and feelings with her, even if it was anger. _Especially_ if it was anger. That's how it had always been, up until Mulroney got involved. But they had moved past that and were friends again. What was different now? If he wasn't being petulant about her teasing him... why, then, had he been avoiding her half the day? Was he sick of her? Had she done something unintentionally cruel?

Madeline felt her mind turn inward upon itself, questioning her every word, her every move. Had she done something to offend him? They'd had a row earlier in the summer about his "new-and-improved" (last-ditch effort) Gryffindor training regime, but they'd sorted that all out too. He showed her all his plans save for the Seeker training—he trusted her to keep the other information to herself, but Harry Potter had always been his secret weapon. He argued that she was too close to Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker, to be trusted on that point. But they had sorted all that out weeks ago and had resumed their daily training, which mostly consisted of physical conditioning and accuracy/skills drills. But what had she done? What had she said to make him literally _hide_ from her?

"I've done absolutely nothing to warrant this sort of—I dunno what to even call it—"

"Censure?" Madeline proffered. "Gossip? Mockery?"

"Sure," he said, doing his best to restrict the urge to smile. The effect was that his lips pursed and jaw grew tight.

There was another tense moment of silence, and Madeline realised that the sun was sinking low behind them. He seemed calmer, was breathing easier, so Madeline hastened to end their discussion and fly home before it got too cold.

"I shouldn't've teased you about some stupid rumor. I _am_ sorry."

"I know you are," he said, his tone solemn, kicking at the grass. "It's just… frustrating."

"What is?"

"All of it."

Madeline noted that this response was impeccably vague, and that he was likely referring to Quidditch and life in general. Little else but Quidditch and school was ever on his mind. From Madeline's perspective, though, it was really difficult not to tease him about the rumors. He wasn't dating anyone. In fact, he had become the new Charlie Weasley, and it seemed as though all the girls in Hogwarts were keen on winning him over. The girls the year below them were especially nosy, twittering, brainless gits. They fawned over Cedric, then Oliver, then Roger Davies, and then back around the rumor mill… and Madeline blatantly refused to keep up with it. It irritated her to pieces, and she'd been Oliver's friend for so long that the idea of not having male friends seemed downright odd. Couldn't they just _not_ be simpering idiots? How difficult was that, really?

"It's difficult not to think about it with you flying around shirtless all day."

Madeline surprised both Oliver and herself with this admission, and it seemed to just tumble out of her mouth. Inwardly, she cursed. Where on earth had that even come from? She hadn't even been thinking about _that_! Then, suddenly, her mind's eye conjured an image of him from this morning, fresh from his daily swim, shirtless, drenched from head to toe… muscles lean and taut…

"Pardon?" asked Oliver, his eyebrows raised in what Madeline recognised as genuine surprise.

"I cannot lie to you, as you well know," said Madeline, looking at her trainers. Her face was burning with embarrassment, and she was sure her neck had grown blotchy with colour. "You're— _distracting_. Sometimes, when we're running drills... I—I dunno—"

" _Me_? _I'm_ distracting?"

Madeline felt that his accusatory tone was unexpected and uncalled for, but he was obviously surprised, so she began rattling off her only logical defense as fast as she could.

"Yes, well—whether you like it or not, Kendra and Katie Bell and all the others _do_ fawn over you, and now that Nick and I are… a thing, they started doing it around _me_ , and it's _so bloody annoying_. They talk about you like you're some sort of… I dunno, slab of lamb or something! When you're not around, I can't even… Merlin, I can't even repeat what they say. And yes, Oliver, even innocent little Katie Bell."

"I see," he said. "And my being _shirtless_ while _you and I_ are training…"

"Constantly reminds me of them twittering away about how damnably fit and good-looking you are, _yes_ ," said Madeline, flailing in a frustrated way. "Especially the fourth and fifth years… it's infuriating! And it's only going to get worse in September!"

"I'm not as good-looking as Richard or Nick," said Oliver evenly.

Madeline rolled her eyes and then looked up to the mountain.

"Yeah, sure. Can we fly home now? I'm already freezing."

"You didn't bring a cloak?"

" _No_ —I didn't think you'd be all the way _here_. I'm surprised I found you, honestly."

"You didn't have to come looking for me."

"Yeah, sure," she said again, dismissively. "Listen, we'll finish our argument at home: I can apologise ten more times, make some shortbread biscuits—"

"You? _Baking biscuits_? From _scratch_?"

"Oh don't _even_ go there!"

At this, Oliver laughed and shook his head. They had returned to some level of normalcy—him teasing her about her baking was a routine occurrence.

"I won't eat anything you make, you know that."

Madeline groaned and stomped her foot, and without looking back at him, she hopped on her broom and took to the sky. Higher up, above the clouds, the sky was the most amazing shade of purplish pink. Though shivering already, Madeline awed at the beauty of it all. She felt at peace, literally _above_ all the anxiety and confusion of being a teenager, and she relished in the feeling of contentment that spread warmly through her chest.

"It's lovely, but we need to get going," said Oliver once he'd joined her. "You'll freeze to death."

"Oh, right, can't get hypothermia before I poison you with shortbread, can I?"

"You _are_ the cheekiest lass in the whole of—"

"You _love_ my cheek," said Madeline for dramatic effect. She threw her hands in the air in a bout of theatrics, her legs and core expertly keeping her balanced on her broomstick. "You _live_ for my cheek. How _else_ would you survive?"

"No, you're wrong—I only live for gossip mongering. That's why I'm _secretly_ shagging Katie Bell."

" _Ha_! I knew it! _I can't wait_ to tell Fred and George!"

"You know _nothing_ , Madeline. Let's go."

* * *

 _July 1995_

July followed quickly, bringing with it unpredictable summer storms that made Oliver's playing conditions worse than usual. Though Oliver played spectacularly as the first-string Keeper for Puddlemere, the first-string Chasers and Seeker were not as talented as those of the other League teams. Rateliff and Górski were both promoted not long after Oliver; Rateliff because she was more accurate than the only male first-string Chaser, and Górski because the first-string Seeker, despite his talent, was severely injured in a match against the Harpies. Despite these changes in the lineup, Puddlemere lost twice in the weeks following Cedric's death, leaving both Oliver and Madeline in a rather anguished state.

Though working at St Mungo's had been a dream of Madeline's for quite a long time, she found that her work was less about her ability to heal people and more about her capacity for dealing with "petty bullshit," as Gabriel had once called it. Though the stakes had been high at the hospital in New York, Gabriel, Jamila, and Madeline were carefully monitored during their first few months on the job. Jamila was working in the Infectious Bites unit, while Gabriel was primarily stationed in the Burn unit, painstakingly transfiguring layers of flesh and bone. Madeline, though, was part of the only resident emergency squad, a unit of three Healers who specialised in extensive bone and vital organ transfiguration. This meant that Madeline was shuffled around from unit to unit doing minor and mundane healing tasks until a serious case was brought in. Though it was sometimes stressful to not know what her shift would entail, she loved that her work kept her on her toes. It was simultaneously exciting and exhausting.

It was also strange to be working so closely to her own mum. Madeline's every move was noted and described to her mother, her every success lauded, her every mistake reprimanded. Madeline was now seeing the renown Olivia Palmer with more frequency than she had since she was a child, and it was a strange transition. One morning, when they were chatting over coffee during a break, Madeline realised that she hardly knew the woman who had raised her. This was such a striking realisation that Madeline spent half her shift trying to process the concept of motherhood—of giving birth to a child, rearing them, sending them off to school, and then letting them go out into the world. It sounded rather traumatic.

But despite working in different units and wards, Gabriel, Jamila, and Madeline grew even closer as friends, sharing their work-related failures and triumphs. Gabriel, who was still deeply smitten with Claire, and Jamila, who had taken to shamelessly flirting with and teasing an easily-amused Nicolas, were both staples around the London flat, which often functioned more like a Muggle café than anything else. Madeline admired Nicolas' forethought in choosing such a spacious and accommodating home for all of them. Everyone who was close to them felt comfortable stopping whenever they wished, and though sometimes Madeline grew tired of the amount of people circulating through their home, she relished in the opportunity to spend time with her friends.

What was most strange in the weeks following Cedric's death was the difference in how Madeline was treated by her friends. Claire, Nicolas, and Margaret never joked or asked about her and Oliver's sex life, which was a much-needed relief, and they never mentioned Hogwarts if they could help it. Madeline was thankful, if not a little surprised by the change. Their conversations were all far more adult-like in nature than ever before.

Part of this alteration, Madeline knew, came from Remus and Tonks' training, which was beginning to ebb. They were growing too busy to meet on a regular basis, and only Madeline truly knew why. The Order meetings were ramping up, and soon Madeline would be expected to join them. She hadn't met any others in the Order yet, and she hadn't noticed anything weird at the hospital, so she sometimes forgot about her obligation, including her promise to conceal this information from all those she cared about. But seeing Remus and Tonks always remedied that. She could not see them without a splash of regret, guilt, and pain—a lovely, Sunday-evening cocktail of sordid emotions.

* * *

A few days before Puddlemere's annual gala, a fancy fundraising event in which the owners paraded the players around in expensive clothes and provided lots of food and booze, Madeline had a day off from work. It was the last week of July, just after her birthday, and she spent several hours at Amelia's small but cozy flat. Madeline loved that her flat was bright and homey, with loads of pillows and soft blankets. It reminded her of the Hufflepuff Common Room, but with less yellow and more boring Muggle plants. They spent the morning chatting and drinking tea.

Amelia was the one person, save for Oliver, with whom Madeline felt that she could be fully open and honest, even when she felt uncomfortable about the topic. She had recently realised that Claire was too apt to negate whatever Margaret said just for the sake of opposition. For that reason, Amelia heard about all the events of the previous month unadulterated and straight from Madeline. They also talked about Madeline's aversion to sexual topics, much to Madeline's deep embarrassment. But she knew that she was better off having this conversation with Amelia than anyone else—Margaret and Claire would be unbearable, and Nicolas would take the mickey out of her until she was red in the face.

"Aren't you going to tease me?"

"Tease you?" Amelia had asked while setting up the table for lunch. "Why would I tease you?"

"You wouldn't," said Madeline with a chuckle. "That's my point!"

"Claire and Margaret, and even Nick, they all mean well. They just want you to be happy, but they think their version of happiness is the only way. It never is."

Madeline nodded at this.

"Tell me what you've done, and then we can talk seriously," said Amelia.

By the time Madeline had recounted her most intimate moments with Oliver, Amelia was smiling happily.

"Don't let them tell you you're _behind_. Life isn't a race to have vaginal intercourse or get married or have children or anything, so don't put up with that rubbish. First and foremost, you and Oliver have to do what's best for your relationship. And if you've at least gotten each other off, you're doing just fine."

"Right," said Madeline, her face quite red.

"It's also alright to be nervous. That's normal. If you weren't a little nervous, I'd be concerned."

"I think 'a little nervous' is a bit of an understatement…"

Amelia then began describing her adventures with various sexual partners, mostly to demonstrate that different people have different preferences. More so than any of her conversations with Claire, Madeline finally began to understand that, much like life, sex was primarily trial and error, just trying stuff out until you found what worked. It was also strange to hear someone talk about vaginas and penises without blushing or grinning, and Madeline felt that, as a Healer, she should be more comfortable using words that described the human anatomy. Amelia also ranted for some time about societal pressures regarding sex and gender, which was truly enlightening. Madeline hadn't known a difference, and she realised that she had loads of misguided and unhelpful preconceptions she didn't even know about.

"You don't have to play by _anyone's_ rules. I think that's what Claire and Margaret have been trying to tell you, in their own skewed way. They don't have a language to describe it like I do. My point being: don't be afraid to do what feels right, even if it seems weird or unnatural."

Madeline didn't look too convinced, so Amelia smiled patiently.

"Let me put it this way: It's only weird if you _make_ it weird."

Madeline found these words stirred something in her; they reverberated inside her chest like a long-lost heartache.

 _It's only weird if you make it weird._

"So," Madeline said, still thinking hard, "confidence is key."

"In part, yes," said Amelia. "I know you trust Oliver indefinitely. He's not going to tease you or think you perverted. But you also have to trust yourself and have confidence in your relationship. Disappointments happen, and that's normal, too. If, one day, things just don't work out, don't let him get all defeated. When—not _if,_ but _when_ —something doesn't go as planned, just remember that neither of you are _bad_ or _weird_ or _failures_ because something didn't work out like you expected."

"So… go into it with…"

"Openness, confidence, and trust."

Madeline repeated those words, and Amelia grinned.

"I can't wait to hear how this goes, but for heaven's sake, go at your own pace."

Madeline matched her grin.

"I'm actually… I feel a lot better."

" _Good_. Oh—another thing," she said quickly. "Before I forget. Part of that openness and trust is being able to talk to Oliver about these things, no matter how uncomfortable it is. You've got to _communicate your needs_. He knows you better than anyone, but he can't read your mind, and he can't feel what you're feeling, physically or emotionally. That's _super_ important."

"Right," said Madeline.

"But let's forget about that for now. Didn't you say you know how to make cauldron cakes?"

* * *

In the hours leading up to the gala, Madeline nervously paced around Oliver's room. She still hadn't quite recovered from the pain of losing Cedric or the fear of knowing that You-Know-Who had regained some of his power, but the fact that there had been absolutely zero suspicious activity gave her some relief. Seeing Amelia was also like a healing balm—she had so much confidence in Madeline's proclivity for 'resilience' that she actually inspired Madeline to feel better.

She was lying on their bed wearing naught but her bath robe when Oliver exited the bathroom, his hair still wet from the shower.

"Alright, Maddie?"

"Mmm," she replied, her face devoid of all emotion.

She was beginning to think it was suspicious that there _hadn't_ been any suspicious activity since June. It had been almost a month since Cedric was murdered. Wouldn't You-Know-Who be active? Wouldn't he be doing… horrible, maniac-type stuff?

"Maddie?"

"Yeah?"

"What's up?"

At seeing his concern, Madeline sat up and smiled, though it wasn't to its normal proportions. He knew that she was nervous about the party and would rather have stayed in with Oliver than get dolled up for his teammates and bosses.

"Just thinking," she said dimly.

"I know you're not excited about tonight, but there's something I want to… well, I think it'll help," he said.

Madeline's eyebrows furrowed. True to form, he'd not said anything specific, but she didn't question him. She recognised by the determination in his eyes that he'd made some sort of decision while bathing. He turned and walked purposefully over to his wardrobe. After ferreting around through several of his belongings, he took out a simple navy box. It was about as large as his palm. In just his boxer briefs, Oliver sat on his bed, the box in hand. Madeline sat up and moved closer to him.

"What's that?"

"It's a gift. I'd thought about giving it to you for your birthday, but I talked myself out of it, like an idiot."

"I loved my present," Madeline said gently.

Her 19th birthday, which had been about a week before, had been celebrated by a small, intimate party in the flat with lots of champagne. Oliver had given her a pair of small but beautiful earrings. She'd not taken them out since—they were silver crescent moons, smaller than her pinky nail, and managed to stay in during showers, work, and sleeping. They were perfect, and she adored them.

"Yes, well, I've had this for a while," said Oliver nervously. He glanced at her and then handed over the box. "I hope you like it."

Madeline knew it was too big to be a ring, so she felt relieved, though she did feel some surprise at having considered the idea of his giving her an engagement ring.

She opened the navy box and her mouth fell open. Although it wasn't a ring, it was just as dazzling. Inside the cushion-lined box was a silver necklace with a teardrop-shaped ruby the size of her thumbnail.

She looked up at Oliver with such thorough surprise that he laughed and raised his hand to his neck, his usual nervous gesture.

"Is that a good response?"

Madeline felt tears well up in her eyes as she looked back down at the necklace.

"Ol… it's huge!" she said, her face scrunching with emotion. "And absolutely lovely."

"It's… _simple_ ," he said, watching her carefully.

Madeline shook her head. She set the box aside and pulled him to her so that they could kiss.

"You like it?" he asked, checking her expression.

"I adore it," Madeline replied, kissing him again. "It's perfect, just like you."

"I'm not perfect," Oliver mumbled, his voice low.

"You're as good as," replied Madeline.

Seeing his expression clear and his eyes grow bright and merry allowed Madeline to smile, to really smile, and she laughed a bit.

"I need to cheer up, I reckon," she said. "I know I've been out of sorts all month."

"It's alright," he said, kissing her again.

Madeline was suddenly aware of how close they both were to full nakedness, and she felt a thrill run through her at the thought.

"Ol?" she asked, her voice near a whisper as his lips met her neck.

"Mmm?"

"Charm the door."

* * *

Oliver beamed at Madeline, though her eyes were nervously focused on the bright, busy ballroom in front of them. She was wearing a floor-length, well-fitted emerald dress that featured pearl beading and thinly webbed dollops of lace. It hugged her frame so perfectly that Oliver found himself recounting the hours before the gala with a surge of molten adrenaline. When she'd suggested trying oral sex, his heart had lodged in his throat—it was possible that she'd been just as nervous about it as him. But she spoke about it so calmly, so intentionally, that he knew she was ready. They both were.

It was a thousand times better than he could've predicted, both for himself and her. In fact, he found that he was more excited about feeling her orgasm than he was about his own pleasure. Thinking about it made him a little lightheaded, so he took a deep breath and looked around, trying to distract himself. But Madeline was wearing the necklace, and he grinned to see it. She didn't know that he'd bought the necklace while she was with Elaine for the bachelorette party, which seemed like ages ago. So much had happened since then.

"What're you so pleased about?" she whispered suddenly.

"If you know the answer, why ask?" he quipped.

"Perhaps I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?" he asked with feigned innocence. "That I'd rather be at home than here?"

Madeline shook her head and pursed her wine-coloured lips in a way Oliver knew to mean that she thought he was being silly but agreed with him fully. She looked so absolutely stunning—he could scarcely believe how lucky he was. He was in madly love with this beautiful, hard-working, passionate, caring, honest, intelligent woman, and she was _somehow_ just as in love with him. Seeing her wear so much makeup and finery was bizarre and thrilling, and it was difficult for him to recognise the normal day-to-day Maddie beneath the guise. But then her eyes met his, and there she was. His heart jumped into his throat again, his veins trailing with spitfires of desire. He needed to reign it in. This was neither the time nor place.

"You're beautiful, Madeline," he said, his voice dropping to a serious notch. "And I love you."

Her face grew rather slack with emotion, and then she smiled tenderly. Her hazel eyes were bright and reflected his passion right back at him.

"I love you too. You look so handsome I could cry."

"Let's _try_ to have fun tonight," he said, sighing. "We'll avoid Rateliff, Cass, and Weni… and all will be well."

"And maybe dance a little?"

"Of course. Whatever you want."

* * *

Throughout the evening, they drank much more than Madeline had been expecting. Every instant that her glass grew even slightly empty, it refilled itself automatically, and they easily lost track of how much they'd consumed. Talking and laughing with Jamila and Damien gave her pleasure, and she was beaming as Oliver introduced her to so many people that she lost count and score of names and faces. The evening began bleeding together, like a glittering watercolour gone wrong, and Madeline seemed to weave in and out of time and thought. Only Oliver's face gave her clarity of thought, but when she lost him, Madeline lost herself.

Hours later, Madeline found herself alone at a table, staring at her wine glass and thinking longingly of a warm bath and snuggling next to Oliver in their warm, soft bed. She was craving warmth—though the room was busy and full of people, Madeline felt unshakably cold. She couldn't make sense of it. She hadn't been cold all evening, and suddenly she was. She thought of casting a Patronus—anything for a bit of cheer—when she remembered that Oliver had her purse, and in her purse was her wand. Why did Oliver have her purse? Why couldn't she remember? Why had she surrendered her wand so willingly? She felt so incredibly dim, lightheaded, lost.

She was still ruminating on her own alcohol-laden confusion when Walter Cass, the considerably younger of two owners of the team, suddenly sat in the chair next to her, smirking with an unattractive, almost caricature-esque, lopsided grin. He leaned in towards her, as if to share a private conversation. His breath smelled of dank, peaty liquor and his eyes were dilated, giving him a wild look—he was obviously completely sloshed. The edges of his face blurred and Madeline blinked hard back into clearer vision.

"How's your evening, Miss Palmer?"

Had they been introduced? Why couldn't she remember?

"Just fine, thanks," said Madeline, her tone curt. Dimness. Blurred.

He was sitting awfully close, and Madeline wasn't sure how to respond. Something was definitely wrong, off, weird, gross. It was all wrong. Her eyes looked up and away, scanning for Oliver. She couldn't see him, Damien, or Jamila. Where were they? Hadn't they just gone to get drinks? Were they chatting with some Quidditch bloke or another? Why couldn't she remember _anything_? The crowd grew blurry and Madeline blinked hard at the glass in her hand. Her vision cleared momentarily and then grew dim again.

Cass leaned in closer and whispered in her ear. Madeline stiffened.

"Is there anything I can do to make your evening more… _pleasurable_?"

Underneath the table, his hand found the slit in her dress and then slid up her leg and rested between her upper thighs. Madeline jumped, immediately feeling violated, but he gripped her so tightly and dug his nails in deeply enough to keep her quiet. She kept her heart rate in check by taking deep, even breaths. Seti's warm ocean voice flashed briefly through her mind:

 _Breathe, love. You're alright. Breathe._

But she wasn't alright. She really, really wasn't. Had someone tampered with her mind? Something was very, _very_ wrong. A blind, freezing-cold panic was growing into a yawning pit of horror in the depths of her stomach... a cold sweat was beading between her breasts and below her nose...

"I have a proposition for you," he said, leaning in even closer and smiling as if enjoying a good joke. "We'd really like to keep Oliver as our first-string Keeper, but he's got some real competition."

Madeline kept her gaze and breathing steady, but she felt something _ding_ in the recesses of her mind. _Competition_? _Oliver_? If he was talking about Wilson, who had refused to return to the team after his injury, or Dixon, the newest second-string Keeper, he was mental. Dixon couldn't touch Oliver's record, not even with his new Firebolt. Was Cass banking on Madeline having absolutely no knowledge of the team? The thought was laughable. Except with his hand between her thighs, she couldn't even think about laughing. She swallowed and her throat felt as rough as a cat's tongue.

"But I think you and I could arrange something," he said, his voice low and rather more dangerous than she would've liked. His index finger moved in a dangerous direction, and chills of absolute revulsion shot through her body. His eyes lingered on her necklace. Then he added, as if an afterthought, "You're beautiful, you know."

She breathed deeply, giving herself some time, and channeled her inner strength. Faces swam in her mind's eye—that of Amelia, Tonks, Claire, and Margaret. She had such intelligent, strong-willed women in her life. Would any of them have stood for this? Well… maybe Margaret, _if_ she was into it. Madeline then felt a surge of confidence and clarity, and she smiled at Cass delicately.

"Tell me, what makes you think I'd be so easy?" Madeline whispered.

She felt rather like a seductress at that moment, and she knew that the only reason she could harness her sexual nature is because Oliver had begun to help her understand it. Why _her_ , of all the women in the room? She wasn't more beautiful than Jamila or Joanna Rateliff, who were both outrageously gorgeous. But then… maybe she had it backwards. Why _Oliver_ , of all the players on his team? Was he afraid of losing Oliver? Another _ding_. Another chink of light.

Cass said nothing, but his eyes narrowed a fraction, his lips turning into a slight frown.

"D'you think I'm _actually_ stupid?" she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly. She pursed her lips. She was aware of his eyes tracking downward, towards her breasts again, and of her own wine-laden breath. Though she certainly felt quite stupid, she didn't want him to know her recent dimness. Oliver's face swam into her mind. "Or did you really think Oliver and I aren't madly in love?"

"We test the loyalty of every person we hire," Cass hissed. " _You're not special_."

Somehow, despite her mind being muddled and despite an unknowable amount of alcohol flowing riotously through her veins, her mind felt oddly clear. She hadn't lost all rational thought! And she apparently wasn't this man's only victim.

"But this isn't a test of _his_ loyalty, it's a test of _mine_ ," said Madeline coolly. "And— _surprise_ —I owe you _nothing_. But, I tell you what… how about you keep Oliver in first string, and I won't tell him that you tried to shag me. How's _that_ for a deal?"

Cass's face scrunched unpleasantly at his nose, and his fingernails dug even into the skin of her left thigh. She breathed in sharply through her nose, the pressure of his nails painful. Madeline briefly wondered if he'd ever been thwarted in anything in his entire life.

"He's not that good, you know," he said. "There're lads all across the bloody country as good as him."

Madeline laughed brightly and roughly pulled her leg away from his hand.

"You keep telling yourself that," she said, grinning. "Good luck finding a bloke half as dedicated as him."

The look on Cass's face confirmed everything, and Madeline chuckled. She took a sip of her wine.

"So… what're you going to do to keep me from telling him?"

"I see," said Cass softly. His voice then, in that moment, reminded her of Severus Snape. She shuddered a bit, but his face grew into sharper relief. "You believe Oliver's loyalty lies with you rather than the team. Well, then, I suppose I have my answer."

Madeline laughed again, partially to relieve her own nerves, and stood. It took every ounce of strength not to stagger or sway.

"Your definition of loyalty is pathetic. His love for me wouldn't clash with his dedication to the team _unless_ , by some strange circumstance, you _forced_ it to. Sounds like you've got some real insecurity issues. I'd work on that, if I were you."

Then, feeling as though she'd better leave, she swiftly walked away. She made her way out of the ballroom and directly into the women's toilet. She stood against the cool tile wall for several moments, her mind swirling with alcohol and confusion, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Things grew blurry and dim again, and Madeline lost her thoughts...

Then, quite unexpectedly, Joanna Rateliff walked in. She did not seem surprised to see Madeline; in fact, she walked straight to her, smirking all the while.

"I saw your interaction with Cass," said Rateliff. "I almost swooped in for the rescue, but you seemed to have it under control."

Madeline felt a deep wave of icy shame at knowing that others saw her—it was unlikely that Rateliff was the only one watching Cass during that interaction. But she also registered Rateliff's other words… she almost came to her rescue. _Almost_. What did that mean?

"Lemme pee real quick," she said, her American accent like the snap of a twig. "Did he ask you to shag him?"

"Basically," said Madeline. What was a shag? What was she saying?

There was an awkward silence as Madeline listened to the sound of Rateliff relieving herself. She then flushed and exited, washed her hands, and turned her beautiful face to Madeline.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Rateliff, looking at Madeline closely for the first time. "Oh, _fuck!_ _No_. I don't _fucking_ believe it."

"What?" said Madeline.

Rateliff's visage was a shimmery smear of toffee and emerald and coral and cocoa... so beautiful...

"He's fucking confunded you, hasn't he?"

"Who?" asked Madeline, who slid unwittingly against the nearest sink. "What've I done?"

"You're fighting it _really_ well, actually. Not that he's got any talent whatsoever," said Rateliff. She was suddenly pointing a wand into Madeline's terrified face. "Relax, babe. You're gonna be fine. _Trust me_."

Rateliff raised her wand, mumbled something, and Madeline sobbed in terror. Then, as if the clouds had parted in her mind, everything grew clear, and Madeline felt warmth spreading back into her limbs. Madeline breathed hard... her chest felt oddly relieved...

"Madeline? Did it work? Talk to me."

"Rateliff? What happened?"

"Confundus Charm. Not a particularly expert one, though," she said. "How're you feeling?"

" _Bloody terrible_."

"Yeah, sorry. Listen, I know you're trying to collect yourself, but you need to be with Wood right now. He saw the whole thing... he saw Cass with you."

"What?!" cried Madeline, who suddenly felt as though she'd been slapped.

Things were all coming back to her in giant, suffocating waves...

"Yeah, but it's alright. Damien and I held him back," said Rateliff dismissively. "He's waiting for you, though. I told him I'd come check on you."

"He's probably furious," said Madeline heavily. "I dunno what to do, or what I'm going to say…"

"Well it's obviously not _your_ fault, so— **A** —don't apologize for anything," said Rateliff seriously. " **B** —they don't want married people on the team, and you two are basically married."

"What's wrong with being married?" asked Madeline.

"Priorities, _duh?_ Cass and Weni don't want anyone or anything coming before the team."

Madeline stared at the woman, her mind spinning with this information and sudden clarity. This news sounded like a load of bollocks to her. She knew she needed to go back out there, to be with Oliver, but she had one more question.

"Is that why you came on to him?" Madeline asked, looking at Rateliff directly in the eyes.

Madeline wasn't sure what Rateliff's reaction would be, but she hadn't expected her to laugh with something like embarrassment. Flecks of colour actually pitched into her gorgeous cheeks.

"Listen, Wood's _really_ attractive," said Rateliff slowly. "I mean, _goddamn_. But yeah, Cass sort of egged me on. I think he was hoping I could test his resolve."

Though Madeline could've said more, she nodded with finality. She needed Oliver.

"Well… _thanks_."

As Madeline made her way back to the ballroom, she noticed that nearly everyone had moved into the entry hall where the fireplaces and Floo networks were. The entry hall was so crowded that Madeline couldn't see past the first few lines of shimmering ballgowns and black-and-white tuxedos. Was it time to go already? How long had she been gone? Were the walls shimmering, or was that her eyes going starry?

Rateliff followed her into the entry hall moments later and caught up with her quickly.

"What's happening?"

"No idea," said Madeline in a low voice.

"Maybe Cass got angry and shut the party down," said Rateliff. "Wouldn't be surprised."

Madeline felt a rush of adrenaline—she didn't have her purse or her wand on her, and she felt shame at what Tonks or Remus would say about her being unarmed and unprepared. When they heard about what had happened tonight... Madeline felt sick at the thought. How could they trust her to be in the Order after this?

The tone of the entry hall was light and jovial. People were still laughing, still chattering, and music was still playing in the ballroom. But most people did appear to be having goodbye chats with one another.

Madeline and Rateliff skirted around the edge of the entry hall until, to Madeline's horror, she was face-to-face with Cass again.

" _You_ ," he said, his face contorting with rage.

Madeline made to skirt around him, and she felt—or rather knew—that Rateliff was behind her, when Cass shouted loud enough for the whole room to hear him.

" _You bitch_!"

The room grew silent, and Rateliff stood in front of Madeline protectively.

"Leave her alone!"

"Get out of my way," spat Cass, who backhanded Rateliff across the face. She fell heavily to the floor.

"How _dare_ you hit her!" cried Madeline.

Though she recognised how unarmed she was, Madeline did not feel afraid. She was basically in a ballroom full of people. She heard scurrying, the patter of heels and shoes. But before anyone could think to stop him, Cass bounded forward and took Madeline by the arms. He tried to pull her towards the nearest fireplace, but Madeline wasn't having it. She thrashed and fought, her strong arms pulling and pushing, her center of gravity sinking, her heels taking aim at his feet—

" _Maddie, stop moving_!"

At hearing Oliver's voice, Madeline's heart soared, and at his command, she ducked down, and then—with a flash of red light, Cass had been stunned. He collapsed to the floor, and because his grip around her stayed, she fell with him.

Rateliff and Oliver were there in an instant, pulling her from Cass's grasp. Oliver's arms were around her, and Madeline felt—swore to herself—that parting from her wand would never happen again. She could have been so easily taken, cursed, killed. Tears pooled in her eyes.

People were murmuring, sounding like a hive of angry bees, but no one stepped forward to deal with Cass.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked, his eyes and voice dark with anger.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, holding back the tears. She kissed him and then held him close, but she could feel him breathing heavily and unevenly. He was still furious, but Madeline was safe in his arms, so Oliver would not retaliate.

"There he is!"

"Weni!" cried a woman.

"Weni," said a nearby man.

The other owner then appeared and stared down at Cass. He turned to Oliver and Madeline, sparing a glance for Rateliff, and spoke.

"Is everyone alright?"

Oliver nodded, his jaw set tight.

"Did you stun him, lad?"

"Aye."

"Well done," said Weni quietly. He then pointed his wand at his throat and magically amplified his voice.

"My dear friends and colleagues, thank you for such a wonderful evening! There is still plenty of food, drink, and music, but we have concluded our event. Thank you again, and have a wonderful night!"

As everyone began chattering once again, Oliver and Madeline made their way to the nearest fireplace, but Weni caught them first.

"Wood—tomorrow. My office. 8 am."

He eyed them both carefully, and then, just before turning away, smiled.

"And bring Miss Palmer."

* * *

Back at the flat, Oliver raged, and Madeline let him. Just after returning, Jamila and Damien stopped by briefly to check in, and then they went home, not wishing to intrude on their privacy. No one else was in the common area of the flat, so Oliver conjured a few plates and set to magically shattering them with Quidditch-honed precision and blind fury. It was horrifying what a simple Stinging Hex could do in the hands of a man enraged.

And suddenly Madeline knew that Dumbledore was right. Oliver wasn't ready. How had Dumbledore known? How did he _always_ _know_?

"Maddie?"

Oliver had calmed himself, and Madeline was sitting in a tight ball, tears streaming onto her dress.

"Maddie, I'm sorry," he said, stroking her back.

"S'alright," she said, lifting her head and looking at him. "Rateliff said they don't want married people on the team. I think she's bluffing. She told me that Cass had convinced her to try to seduce you. I think that's just an excuse."

Madeline needed to be distracted from Dumbledore's seemingly accurate assertion about Oliver. She couldn't dwell on her decision not to tell him. She was fearful of his reaction, and she wanted— _needed_ —to trust Dumbledore. Didn't she?

"I don't care a jot about her," said Oliver quietly.

"What d'you think'll happen tomorrow? Why does he want to meet with… both of us?"

"I've no idea, Maddie. What did Cass—when he was at the table with you—what did he say?"

"He basically told me that I had to sleep with him to keep you at first string," said Madeline. "And I called bollocks. Wilson and Dixon have nothing on you."

"You said that?"

"Well, not exactly," said Madeline. "I asked him if he thought I was stupid. I told him good luck finding any player even half as dedicated as you. I… told him that his definition of loyalty was sad."

" _Maddie_ … my cheeky, beautiful Maddie."

"He'd confunded me. Had his hand between my legs," she whispered, her voice breaking, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

Oliver shook with rage, his fists clenched and jaw set tight, and Madeline touched his arm.

"You can be angry—I don't want to stop you from being angry—but I need you to hold me, please. I'm... _I'm so scared, Oliver_."

And with that, she was swept into his arms and then carried to their bed. They both changed quickly, abandoning their finery, and Oliver pulled her close as they laid together. She wanted to recount everything—to tell Oliver what she could remember—but her eyes grew heavy, her mind numb and weak, and she quickly fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Oliver and Madeline were sitting in Weni's office, blearily hungover and exhausted. All signs of Cass—his messy desk, posters, and Puddlemere paraphernalia—all gone. They were all nursing ceramic Puddlemere-labeled mugs of hot coffee, despite the heat that would rage later in the late-July day. They were seated around a circular coffee table in comfortable leather sofas, and Madeline had a suspicion that this meeting would probably be even weirder and more revealing than her meeting with Dumbledore.

"Wood, you and your father have been fans of the team for many years now, isn't that right?"

"Erm, yes," said Oliver. "Since I was old enough to ride a broom."

"By which he means _two_ _years old_ ," said Madeline, eyeing Oliver with a warm smile.

This treated everyone to laughter, but it did not last long. An awkward silence settled, but Weni did not seem bothered by it. He stared unseeing at his wall-sized window, the one that overlooked the Puddlemere pitch and training facilities. Madeline knew that Oliver was still furious, but they both waited patiently (and uncomfortably) as Weni regained his sense of purpose and desire to speak.

"I have been trying to maneuver Cass out of his contract for several years, and now that there are allegations of and _evidence for_ sexual assault and harassment, I finally have the stock I need for the soup."

Weni stood, his coffee forgotten, and began pacing behind the worn leather sofa he'd been sitting on. Oliver and Madeline glanced at each other and watched nervously.

"Mr. Weni," said Madeline softly. "Why exactly did you want me here? Do you need a testimony?"

"Miss Palmer, you may call me Charles," said Weni. He smiled gently. "You both may, if it pleases you. And I will one day soon need your testimony, but not today. _No_ …"

Madeline sipped her coffee while her brain rattled off into dozens of directions…

 _Will he fire Oliver for protecting me?  
_ _What does he need from the both of us?  
_ _Who does he trust?  
_ _Why has he been trying to sack Cass all these years?  
_ _What the bloody hell is going on?_

"Wood, do you remember when I doubled your salary?" asked Weni, seemingly out of the blue.

Madeline's eyebrows shot up, face slack with shock, and she glanced at Oliver, looking for answers. But he did not look at her or meet her eyes; he gazed unblinking at Weni, who was now leaning his forearms against the back of the sofa.

 _Doubled his salary?!_

"Yes," said Oliver slowly. "I thought that was for the promotion to first string."

"Oh, yes, that was certainly how I managed it," said Weni, waving his hand dismissively. "Cass wanted to only give you a two percent raise."

"Is that what the others got?" asked Oliver.

"Rateliff received a ten percent increase, while Górski, as Seeker, got a twenty-five percent raise," said Weni.

Madeline's mind reeled. How was it that Rateliff, with all her talent, could be worth so much less than the others? Was this normal for women in professional Quidditch organisations? Would St Mungo's give her half as much as Gabe?

"Charles, I don't understand where this is going," said Oliver bluntly. "What d'you want from me?"

Weni stared at Oliver, silent, for some time before blinking and sighing.

"I suppose I must be plain. I wasn't sure when or how I would tell you, my lad. But… I would like you to be the next owner of Puddlemere United."

Oliver stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at Weni.

"I am getting quite old, you see. When I was initially grooming Walter, I felt that his dedication to the team was unquestionable. I later realised that he has vastly different priorities from myself. He does not consider _family_ to be a suitable foundation for loyalty. You and I, I think, have more closely aligned values."

Weni glanced meaningfully at Madeline, who was sipping her coffee again. She looked up, saw that both men were gazing at her, and then set the mug down.

"You are planning on marrying this woman, correct?"

"Yes," said Oliver firmly, without looking at Madeline.

Something warm slid down her throat and into her chest, and she took Oliver's hand and squeezed it.

"Excellent. Well, there's plenty of time for all that," said Weni, who sat back on the sofa. "Nor am I expecting an answer today. It's just—now that Cass has broken the terms of his contract, I must start planning accordingly. As owner, part or full, you must have and maintain a certain amount of wealth, respectability, and responsibility. That is why your salary was raised so considerably. The other two qualities I feel you already have in full."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, nodding.

Charles Weni laughed.

"If nothing else, you are a man of few words, and that is always a valuable trait."

* * *

Once home, Madeline rounded on Oliver. Thankfully, again, there was no one home. Madeline did an Homenum Revelio sweep of the apartment just to be sure. Where was everyone?

"When were you going to tell me?" she asked, her tone fighting to stay calm.

"Maddie, I'd no idea Weni wanted me to—"

"Not _that_! About your _salary_. You were already making a _considerable_ amount, and then to have it _doubled_ … why didn't you tell me?

"I…" he said, plopping onto the sofa and running his hands over his face and through his hair. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"Even _me_?"

"It was overwhelming, Maddie, the whole… making first-string thing! It all happened so fast. Having to play with that amount of pressure and then becoming permanently part of the team, and I just… then we lost those matches, and I didn't want to…"

Madeline sat next to him, threw her legs over his lap, and curled into his chest. He took her hand.

"It sounds foolish now, I know, but I didn't want you to get excited because… if I'd've failed, it would've all disappeared. And I couldn't… I couldn't bear the idea of you being disappointed in me."

"Ol…"

"You're more than half the reason I work so hard," said Oliver. "You know that, don't you? I want you to have everything."

"I don't want everything," said Madeline as seriously as possible. "Just you."

They shared a long kiss, and Madeline broke it with a small laugh.

"And maybe a place where we can be _just us_ alone together," she said, vocalising the desire for more privacy she'd had for some time.

She expected Oliver to laugh and agree, and instead he shook his head, jaw taut, expression pained.

"What is it?"

"It's not ready yet," he said, sighing deeply.

" _What_?"

Oliver could not bring himself to say, and instead he buried himself in her neck. They toppled over, lying next to each other on the sofa. She pulled away to look at him, kissed his cheek, and ran her fingers through his hair.

"I will take my blouse off if you tell me what it is," she said.

At this, Oliver chuckled, and she pressed her body closer to his. He then mumbled something against her neck, but she didn't catch it, so she pulled further away.

"Ol, spit it out, what's going on?"

"I'm building us a house," he said. "Well, a cabin more like. And it's taking _ages_ longer than I thought."

At this news, Madeline grinned and laughed so loudly that she dissolved into tears. Oliver sat up and pulled her with him so that she was soon crying into his chest, her relief and confusion and grief all mingling together. _Happy tears._ For the first bloody time in recent memory.

"I wanted it to be a surprise when it was done," he said. "Only my dad knows. And as far as the… getting married thing… I wanted… well, I just want you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," she said. "I mean, when I'm not scared or stressed or angry, you know, but mostly I _am_ happy."

"I know," he said softly. "We're going on holiday the week after Peter and Kendra's wedding. Your mum already scheduled you off work."

"I've got a holiday?"

"Yes, I've worked it all out. A whole week."

"Where're we going?"

"Now that, blessedly, will remain a surprise."

"Oh," said Madeline, feeling put-out. "Wait, so… where's this house going to be?"

"That, _too_ , will remain a surprise."

"Oliver!"

"Maddie?"

"It's not ready enough for even me to see it? I'm going to love it no matter what," she said. "Besides… as long as there's a few protective enchantments, and perhaps a bed, then we can…"

"Yes?" Oliver asked, quirking an eyebrow up suggestively.

"You know…"

" _Can we, now_?"

Madeline blushed scarlet and bit her lower lip, her whole body feverish with desire. His lips met the skin of her neck, and she let a moan rumble in her throat.

" _Maddie_ …"

"Oliver?"

"What were you saying earlier about your blouse?"

Madeline paused for a beat, and Oliver's thumb ran gently across her breast.

"I'm sick of waiting."

"As in… _now_?"

" _Now_."

* * *

 **Chapter 19: Richard's Return**

 **A/N:** The chapter everyone's been waiting for? Peut-être? *smooches*

I hope you all enjoyed the flashback. I loved writing it, imagining that exchange as the first time Oliver realises how truly devastated he is by Maddie dating Nick... and then she teases him about a girl who's years younger than him, and he can't stand it anymore, so he bolts. And they sort-of realise how attracted to each other they _could be,_ though Oliver certainly sees everything more clearly than Madeline could at the time. Ah, bless 'em. This story really began with my quest to make Oliver less of an angry, obsessive freak. I wanted him more reserved and more patient, but still with a streak of righteous, protective fury. I also really wanted to center a Hufflepuff heroine. And now you all have my rationale for how this story began, all those years ago. I'm loathe to finish it, but I swear I will. All in good time. Also, if you want more of others' POVs, let me know. I do try to switch it up sometimes, but dear Maddie is my whole heart.

As always, be kind to everyone, and be at peace, friends.

 _All will be well._


	19. Richard's Return

**Chapter 19: Richard's Return**

 _But to see her was to love her;_  
 _Love but her, and love for ever._  
 _Had we never lov'd sae kindly,_  
 _Had we never lov'd sae blindly,_  
 _Never met—or never parted,_  
 _We had ne'er been broken-hearted._

\- Robert Burns, _Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever_

* * *

Oliver held her waist, asked her to close her eyes, and apparated.

"May I open my eyes now?"

"Yes."

Madeline looked slowly over the cabin so cosily situated before them. They were standing in a small clearing in a thickly wooded forest, a light summer breeze drifting through the bright green mountain scrubs and trees, and Madeline took a deep breath. Oliver could tell by the curl of her lips that she knew _exactly_ where she stood—only a few minutes' walk to their favourite waterfall and pool.

Oliver felt his pulse racing, his nerves and patience fraying—after months of painstaking planning and toiling, Madeline was finally here. And he couldn't've felt more nervous about her reception. He wanted her to adore it… and to reward him generously for his labors of love.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of scrutiny, she turned her face up to him. What he saw there, in the depths of her impeccable hazel eyes, made his entire being flush with pleasure.

 _That_ had to wait—but hopefully not too long. They'd both done enough bloody waiting.

"Show me everything," she whispered, grasping at his arm. "And don't wake me up."

"You're not dreaming, love," he said.

"You're sure?"

Oliver nodded, his face slack with a thousand emotions, and she tiptoed herself into a very welcome kiss. He wondered briefly if the look in his eyes mirrored hers. Surely it did.

She then turned and made to rush to the front door, he caught her arm and gently pulled her back to him.

"Patience," he whispered.

Madeline gave him a quick glance that very plainly read as "patience be damned," but she pressed her lips into a stifled smile and let him lead the way.

The inside of the cabin was, of course, five times more expansive than the deceitfully compact one-story exterior. Once inside, Madeline looked around in awe. The sitting room was already furnished with a soft-looking sofa and dark-wooden coffee table inlaid around the edges with fine swirls of silver and turquoise. There was also a small, empty bookshelf of the same wood in one corner, a matching wooden mantelpiece over the fireplace grate, a midnight blue rug, and a Puddlemere United tapestry hanging on the wall opposite the bookshelf. Madeline grinned as Oliver led her into the kitchen, which featured not much but some cabinets, counters, and a sink. The adjacent dining area, however, already had a large trestle table and an antique-looking silver chandelier.

"There's still a lot to do," said Oliver quietly. "We still need to get..."

Though he was prepared to list all the household items he'd not yet procured, and to explain how the house didn't yet have running water, her eyes silenced him.

"What?" he asked.

"We can talk about all that later," she said seriously, sidling up to him and placing her arms around his neck.

His hands intuitively found the softness of her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. He knew she was still strong from all those years of Quidditch training, especially the muscles of her back and core, and he looked forward to exploring their strength. He thought briefly that she was certainly not soft compared to the likes of Claire and Margaret, whose limbs were like noodles. But as his thumb traced her abdomen, he felt one of her pliant lines of discrete muscle, and warmth once again spread through his chest like a bonfire.

"How many bedrooms are there?"

 _Bedroom,_ his mind echoed dully, heat racing down his spine.

"Five."

"Five?!"

"You know—in case we have… guests."

"Guests?"

"Aye."

"And by 'guests' d'you also mean… children?"

"Well… sure, that too," he said, trying to repress a grin and failing.

Madeline pressed a brief—he thought almost chaste—kiss to his lips and her expression grew serious once more. There was a flicker of fear in the depths of her eyes that he couldn't make sense of. But it happened so quickly, like the golden, ephemeral flicker of a Snitch, that he partially thought he'd imagined it.

"I don't think I'm ready for that," she whispered.

"We've no rush," he replied. "Though we can certainly practice… if you'd like."

He half-expected her to maintain her seriousness and reprimand him, but she laughed instead, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. He grinned to see it.

" _You_ ," she said softly. "Let's see these _five_ bedrooms then. D'you have a favourite?"

"Oh, yes."

"Of course you do."

"The whole plan of the house was designed around our bedroom," he said.

" _Really_?" He didn't need to check her expression to know that this surprised her. "How come?"

Oliver studiously ignored the flush creeping up his neck. He flatly refused to be embarrassed by such an honest, if not intimate, admission. He began leading her to the staircase.

"You'll see."

"How many floors are there?"

"Only three."

Madeline snorted in amusement, and he immediately knew the trend of her thoughts. ' _Only three_ ,' she was thinking, her mind mocking him. Impatient for her approval, he put on a burst of speed and began leaping up the stairs two at a time. Madeline laughed behind him, and he noted its fullness with a bright grin. It was her loud, open, joyful laugh. He hadn't heard it in several long and dreary weeks, and his heart soared to hear it again now.

She followed him with the same swiftness he'd always admired of her, and once they were on the third-floor landing, they stopped a moment to breathe more easily.

Then, without giving her time to think or question him, he picked her up and carried her into their room. But Oliver regretted this decision when she gasped, hands flying to her mouth, because he could not fully see her face. She was staring at the massive wall of glass—and the impressive vista it revealed. He grinned and placed her back on her own two feet. She stepped nearer and then turned to glance at him, her eyes wide and mouth open in shock.

" _Oliver_ ," she whispered.

The whole eastern-facing wall appeared to have been built with glass rather than solid wall, and there was a small silver handle in the middle of the wall that opened a door to a wooden veranda. Little else in the room seemed to matter, though he had furnished this room first and with the most consideration.

" _It's beautiful_."

And it was—he had, of course, designed the room (and therefore the whole house) to showcase the impressive view of the valley and mountains beyond. The house was built at just the perfect part of the slope of the mountain to see above the trees and down to the valley below. From their wall-sized window, they could see the small village and loch, and Madeline was sure that if she looked closely enough, she could probably spot the roofs of their parents' houses. She turned to face him, and though her reaction had been worth the surprise, he still felt like he awaited some sort of verdict. What did she _really_ think?

"D'you… like it?"

" _Like_ it?"

She closed the distance between them and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He yielded to her body immediately, desperate for her approval. Her love. _Her_.

"I _adore_ it. It's _perfect_. _You're_ perfect," she said, her tone slipping a notch higher with each word.

Then, before he could respond, he saw the wetness in her eyes and his jaw set firm. He'd not kept count of the times she'd cried in the past month, and he'd not needed to. It didn't signify. But he couldn't bear to see it—not _here_ , not after hearing her laugh so fully again. He'd almost forgotten about their early-morning meeting with Weni—it had already felt like ages ago—though his office had inspired the design of the room.

"I'm alright," she said, taking notice of the trend of his thoughts. "I'm just… _relieved_."

 _Tears of relief?_ he thought. _Could it be?_

She nodded as if he'd voiced his question aloud, as if begging him to believe her.

Tentatively, he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs and lowered his head to her. She met his lips swiftly and with confidence, and that's when he decided he could wait no longer.

He picked her up, trying not to break their kiss, but Madeline pulled away to laugh.

 _She's alright_ , he thought, his own wave of warm relief filling his chest.

Once he'd carried her to their bed, Madeline turned of her own accord and fell onto the bed with a soft plop.

"It feels nice," she said, testing the firmness of the bed. "Not too soft."

She bent double to remove her shoes and Oliver deftly pulled his shift up and over his head. All pretense gone, his shoes were off next, and then his jeans. Madeline moved towards the middle of the massive bed, lounging comfortably, and grinned at his haste. He noticed that she still had her clothes on—did she expect _him_ to deal with those? Oliver chuckled to himself—if it were up to him, he'd vanish them all and not think twice about it.

"Have you slept on this bed yet?" she asked as he moved to join her.

" _Never_ — _not without you_."

In his own ears, his voice sounded dark and rather more menacingly possessive than he'd expected, but her eyes suddenly looked so wide and seductive that he didn't care.

As he lowered his mouth to hers for what was surely the thousandth time, he was suddenly reminded of the first time they kissed, how surprised they both were by their own depth of passion. He moved his lips down to her neck, as was his usual course of action, and this allowed him to speak.

"D'you remember our first kiss?" he asked, his lips near her right ear.

" _Aye_ ," she said, her voice half a breathless moan. Then, a moment later, she sat up and looked at him, forcing him to sit back. "Why?"

"I dunno," he said, his hand flying to his scalding neck.

Why'd he gone and spoke?! They could still be kissing if he hadn't been idiot enough to take her mind away from the present moment!

 _Defend yourself, you stupid prat!_

"I just… being here with you reminded me of how ridiculously happy I was— _we_ were—that night."

Her face went slack with emotion, seemingly thousands of them, but eventually it settled on a mixture of endearment and loving surprise.

"D'you remember what I said?" she asked.

"Which bit—the part about hating me?"

"Nah," she said, sitting up and grinning. "That was later, remember?"

She was moving further away from him, and his eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

"The bit about how I could've been snogging you into bliss all summer?"

He watched as she knelt on the bed and burst out laughing. Then she pulled her blouse over her head and discarded it to the wooden floor somewhere. Her skirt went next.

"Nah, the bit about not wanting anyone else," she said.

She was wearing a thin bra of black lace and similar looking knickers. Oliver had assumed that since he'd seen her in a similar state of undress so often in recent months that he would be prepared, but he was wrong. In that moment—and in _their house_ —he felt an almost unearthly need and urgency for her. For the first time, he felt literally dizzy with desire. Though already swollen, his whole body throbbed.

"Ol?" her eyes flashed with concern.

He pulled her on top of him, unthinking, and drew her mouth to his again. His hands felt cold against her warm, smooth skin, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she matched his urgency—her hands grasped at his hair, her hips rocked against his, stroking his length. The weight, the closeness, the softness, and the warmth of her made him groan. She always smelled of lavender and sometimes cinnamon and parchment paper, yet she somehow tasted infinitely more delectable. Her skin enlivened him—her touch almost agony.

She was everything—there was nothing else.

"Just you," she whispered, nipping at his ear.

" _Maddie_ ," he said, his voice strained and thin.

He snapped her bra off without thinking, threw it aside, and pressed hungry kisses to her soft, warm breasts, which she had strategically placed close to his mouth.

" _Just you_ ," she said again, her voice pitched high and desperate, her body thrumming against his—their mutual passion spiraling into a maelstrom of desire.

He would absolutely not be able to contain himself much longer.

"You remember what I said a long time ago? About testing your self-control?"

He groaned again as her mouth returned to his, her warm tongue intoxicating. Then she pulled away, her mouth dropping to his neck again. She bit his neck… once, twice—

"It's time, Oliver. _Break it_."

* * *

« En fin de compte, tout s'arrange, sauf la difficulté d'être, qui ne s'arrange pas. » – Jean Cocteau

* * *

The break room at St Mungo's had a perpetual odor of cleaning supplies and strong coffee, with the occasional smell of some baked goods brought in by the employees of the magical hospital. Madeline sat at a round, plastic table with Jamila and Gabriel—they were lucky to have a break at the same time today—and they were talking about the dullness of the morning shift they had just finished.

"I hate boring days," said Jamila, who was picking at a blueberry scone. "Sometimes it makes me wish I'd studied something else."

"Well, at least you're done for the day," said Gabe. "Maddie and I have—what—six hours left?"

Madeline nodded and made a soft assenting noise as she sipped her hot coffee. It had taken her several months to grow accustomed to taking her coffee without the addition of cream or sugar, and now she couldn't have it any other way. Plain coffee or no coffee.

The older Healers tended to go straight home to their families after work, while Madeline and the younger employees could often be found chatting over their coffee and snacks. A companionable silence overtook the otherwise empty break room, replete with a baskets of fruit and baked treats and uncomfortable plastic chairs that matched the off-white table.

"So… what was Claire looking so pleased about last night?" asked Madeline evenly.

Madeline had a suspicion that Claire had finally gainsaid their decision to delay any physical contact, but she wouldn't be sure until she spoke with Claire later that night. She wondered briefly if her suspicions would give her own secret away, but since no one had even the slightest clue or suspicion, she and Oliver were safe from their mockery… for now. Yet the merest thought of their consummation made her flush with desire, so she'd been practicing ignoring the sensation. _That_ was no trifle.

"Oh," said Gabriel, looking up more awkwardly than usual. He grinned at his mug. "We—well… I know it's useless trying to keep secrets from you. We finally kissed."

Madeline grinned and laughed and had to exert far too much self-control—she wanted to shout and dance on the table! _Finally kissed!_ After nearly three months of abstinence! Madeline laughed again, this time to herself—Tonks and Nicolas had made bets on how long they'd last. To her knowledge, Nicolas would be the winner. He always said they wouldn't last long.

"I won't say anything," said Madeline, still grinning. "Though you can accurately guess my thoughts, I'm sure."

Jamila, who was chortling happily, grinned to match them.

"Of course he can," she said. "Your friends give y'all so much shit. How do you and Oliver do it?"

Gabriel burst out laughing, and soon the two women caught on. Again, Madeline made to act as innocent as ever. Her traitorous mind would've revealed all— _we do it quite well, thanks_.

"I mean—how can you stand listening to them?" Jamila clarified, only slightly embarrassed.

"Well," said Madeline, who was now twice as careful with her words, "it's been pretty horrible. But we've made it through the worst of it. They know to leave us alone. Oliver still has a massive temper, even if he's gotten better at dealing with it."

"Yeah," said Jamila solemnly.

She'd seen his temper first hand at the gala. Damian had told Jamila everything about Puddlemere's loss of their younger owner, but they didn't know about Weni's offer. No one did—it was to be kept a secret for many months still. Not that this bothered Madeline. Oliver was thrilled, of course, yet Madeline couldn't help but notice a small, private sadness whenever she'd broached the topic. She knew him well enough to understand—he wanted to keep _playing_ Quidditch, not managing others, until old age or the severest of injuries disabled him. This made her wonder—would it be so very unprecedented for him to be an owner and a player on the team?

 _Yes_ , her mind whispered. _It's not ethical. He'd have too much power over the other players._

"I wonder if Claire and Tonks are going to—"

Suddenly, and abruptly silencing Gabriel, a young woman who worked the front desk burst in—her eyes wide, face blanched, and tone of desperation.

"Miss Palmer—there you are!—quick!—they need you!"

Madeline didn't miss a beat, nor did Gabriel or Jamila. Coffee and snacks forgotten, the three Healers jumped up and followed the young woman down the hall at all but a sprint. While on their way, Madeline wrapped her long hair—she really ought to trim it soon—into a tight bun at the back of her head.

"I've never seen anything like it," the young girl cried. She was one of their summer interns and had only been around for a few weeks, so this admission was no surprise to Madeline or the others. "They said it's the worst splinching they've seen in decades…"

Madeline and Gabriel exchanged a look—if it was a splinching so severe that the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had sent them here, it was bound to be horrible. They usually handled the minor splinching incidents themselves. Madeline gathered her wits and courage and bolted towards the emergency unit, where her two older team members would undoubtedly be waiting for her. Jamila stopped just short of the ward and frowned.

"I'll leave you to it," she said sadly. She hated missing any action, but she wasn't on the clock any longer. Not that anyone would've refused her help. "See you later."

Gabriel watched Madeline carefully as she took a deep breath before entering the room. He'd come to know her well in their time working together, and while Madeline knew Gabriel had the utmost respect her, there was always a thin thread of competition woven between them. He gave her a small, knowing smirk that she could've sworn was for her alone. If she didn't know how besotted he was with Claire, or if her own heart hadn't been irrevocably secured, she would've felt deeply uncomfortable with such an idea.

"Ready?" he asked, his smirk lilting the left side of his face. His taupe eyes were bright with adrenaline and excitement.

Madeline took another deep breath.

"Of course," she said, shooting him a challenging glare.

"After you," he said, sweeping his arm before her in a playfully gentlemanly manner.

Madeline rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. She took in the scene quickly—she was used to assessing the situation as rapidly as possible—only to be thoroughly distraught by the man lying before her.

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Nothing.

 _It was Richard._

And the intern hadn't been mistaken—Madeline had never seen such carnage.

Richard and the woman lying next to him had been split open below the clavicles, their innards spilling about everywhere. Richard along his right side, the woman along her left.

 _How on earth did this happen_?! her mind cried, suddenly in turmoil.

Noticing the turn of absolute horror on her face, Gabriel took her arm and shook it gently. They'd seen plenty of gore before, and he'd never seen Madeline Palmer lose her nerve. He knew it must be personal.

"Maddie—what is it?"

"It's Richard," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes as she glanced at him. " _It's Richard_."

Gabriel didn't need clarification, but he rounded on Madeline before the other Healers could notice her withering resolve. But everyone was so busy setting to task that they paid her no mind.

"Maddie, focus on the work. He needs you— _he needs you to concentrate_."

This did the trick. Gabriel stepped aside as she moved forward to join her team—the level of transfiguration and bodily knowledge required to sort out this mess was beyond him, but he knew he wasn't completely useless. He'd learned that while re-transfiguring spleens and such was not his area of expertise, he and Madeline worked well together, and the last thing she needed was another friend to die on her watch.

There were other Healers gathering the biofluids and trying to stopper further leakage, and Madeline's face had already taken on a look of fierce concentration.

The man named Richard was bloodied, gaunt, and unconscious, but Gabriel couldn't help but apprise his looks as they set about healing him. Yet the closer Gabriel looked, the more of a shock he was dealt: the man had the same sort of reddish-brown hair and the same sort of strong cheekbones as Madeline. In fact, they looked as though they could be brother and sister. And _this_ was Claire's former lover? A notch in Gabriel's stomach dropped. But before he could think of anything else, the other Healers of the emergency squad were barking out orders, setting him and the others tasks to complete as swiftly and skillfully as possible.

* * *

Several hours later, Madeline stood next to Richard's hospital bed, her face pale and gaunt with worry and exhaustion. She'd already sanitized and cleaned herself, but the metallic smell of blood lingered. She sat on the edge of his bed, her face in her hands, and replayed the last four hours in her mind.

There had been several long moments when Madeline had been sure that Richard wasn't going to make it—there'd been far too much to transfigure and replace and too little time—but they'd somehow done it. Both the Muggle woman and Richard had survived, but only just. In fact, the woman had been worse off. Somehow her heart hadn't been fully ripped from its cavity in her chest, though much of the rest of her organs had been displaced.

Madeline stood and turned to face her friend—Richard was pale and gaunt from the loss of so much blood—and she checked his pulse again. She'd been doing this every ten minutes or so for over an hour, and in between checking on him, she'd sent a few owls with a nurse.

 _Richard's at St Mungo's. He very nearly died—horribly splinched. I plan to stay here tonight—the others they are welcome to visit. I expect to see his parents soon. Love you. – Maddie_

Such was her brief missive to Oliver. She'd written to Richard's parents first, knowing that they would want to see their only son as soon as possible.

"Maddie?"

She looked up to see her own mum entering the room, wearing clothes other than scrubs (always a weird sight) and accompanying Richard's parents. Though she hadn't seen them in nearly three years or so, they looked relieved to see her. His mother, a tall woman with hair the same shade and texture as her son, embraced her tightly.

"Oh, Madeline, I'm so glad you were here," she said, almost as though she'd been witness to his accident. "How is he?"

"Stable," said Madeline. "But still asleep. We gave him a dreamless sleep draught, so it will be several hours before he wakes. He will be quite fatigued and hungry when he does, but he will need to have only liquids for a few days."

His mother and father nodded solemnly, and the woman's eyes welled with tears.

"I just don't understand how this happened," she cried.

"We won't know til he can tell us," said Olivia gently. "We'll be just outside, Cate, alright?"

Cate Callaghan nodded and Olivia led her daughter out of the room. She conjured chairs and they both sat, Madeline hardly seeing or noticing anything. She was exhausted.

"Dorvis said you were _magnificent_ ," she said.

Madeline recognized the praise but it slipped dully into her unconscious mind. She couldn't think about herself right now—she was too busy thinking of Richard.

"I tried," Madeline replied, nodding gently.

"Well—by all accounts, you should be proud."

Madeline thought to reply that she simply did her job, but at that moment, she heard a rush of noise and knew the others had arrived. First she saw Claire, then Gabriel, followed by Oliver and Nicolas.

 _Where is Margaret? She must not've been home._

Though Oliver looked as though he wanted nothing better to wrap her up in his arms, Claire was there first, tears pooling in her icy green eyes.

"Is it true? He nearly…" she whispered.

Olivia excused herself and entered the room behind them, and Claire took up the empty seat.

"His parents are in there now," said Madeline. "It was… by far the worst thing I've ever seen."

"He was splinched?" asked Nicolas.

"With a Muggle woman. She's been moved to the Muggle ward," said Gabriel.

"Half their bodies were conjoined and when the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad tried to separate them, nearly killing them both," said Madeline, her tone openly bitter and dangerous.

She was still shaking in fury and horror when Oliver pulled her gently into his arms. Once there, Madeline breathed in relief, and then—and only then—did she feel comfortable crying.

Oliver leaned against the wall of the corridor, his arms protectively wrapped around her, and let her cry into his soft cotton t-shirt for nearly ten minutes straight. As she grew more upset, he held her head to his chest and gently stroked her hair. This calmed her eventually, but Oliver knew that she'd suffered more this summer than ever before—and there was nothing he could do about it. The normal feeling of weakness and uselessness washed over him, but he quelled his thoughts and focused on the brave, strong woman in his arms.

"I'm going in," said Claire softly.

Madeline heard her but said nothing, and to her relief, neither Nicolas nor Gabriel responded verbally either. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, and Madeline wiped her face and turned to face the other two men.

"I hope Dorvis has a word with whoever did this," she said darkly. "Or I certainly will."

"He said he would," said Gabriel with a shrug. "They've never acted so stupidly."

"How'd you save them?" asked Nicolas. His tone was that of mingling curiosity and surprise.

"Painstakingly," said Madeline, her dark gaze daring him to ask for more information.

To her relief, he quelled his thoughts or simply kept them to himself.

Madeline often forgot that many of the walls were lined with paintings of previous Healers, and she thought she heard one of them snigger. She shot the older, wheezing man a look, but he smiled a guileless smile and she rolled her eyes.

 _Absolute nutters._

"I need a _drink_ ," she said. "Or five."

Oliver wound his arms around her waist again and pulled her closer.

"That can be arranged."

"And biscuits."

"That too."

"And a bath."

"Anything, love."

Mollified, Madeline turned and burrowed her face into Oliver's firm chest again. What she really wanted, and what she couldn't say aloud, was to return to their bedroom in the cabin and strip Oliver naked and—

"Maddie?"

"Yeah?"

Madeline turned to see her mother looking at her, eyes bright with concern.

"I'm going home now. I want to tell Henry everything. Are you alright?"

Her mum pulled her into a tight hug and Madeline nodded.

"I'm alright," she said.

"Well, if you need us, let us know," she said.

Madeline nodded again and returned to Oliver's side as her mother strode purposefully down the hospital corridor.

Then, moments later, Claire burst out of the room looking terrified.

"Maddie—he's awake and retching everywhere—"

Madeline and Gabriel dashed into the room faster than the others.

"Out of the way, out of the way," said Gabriel. His voice had such a commanding tone that Richard's parents immediately backed away.

Madeline was the first to his side, wand at the ready, and she placed a hand on his back as he continued to vomit all over the floor. He coughed, sputtered, and then breathed heavily. Gabriel vanished the vomit immediately and then bustled over to a large medicine cabinet on the opposite side of the room.

"Essence of belladonna?" he called.

"No—see if there are any nausea potions left," said Madeline.

With a monumental effort, and with Madeline's hands guiding him, Richard lied back down. His eyes were half-open and bleary, and his mouth was speckled with sick. Madeline conjured a small towel and mopped up his face, which was drenched in sweat.

"Water," said Madeline, and moments later, Gabriel was at her side with a vial in one hand and a goblet of water in the other. They propped him up and forced some water and the potion down his throat. He coughed again, and Richard's mother gave a withering half-sob, but Madeline ignored it. He needed fluids.

"Let's see if he keeps that down," said Madeline.

"He shouldn't be awake," replied Gabriel, shooting Madeline a grave look.

"No—but I'd wager he vomited that potion right up. We'll need another."

"We need to tell Healer Watson. He's technically his patient now."

"I'm not leaving. You go right ahead," said Madeline snappishly.

Then, as Gabriel made to reply, Richard made a sound that was a half-moan and half-grunt.

"Richard?" asked Madeline, touching his forehead. He wasn't feverish, which was a relief. Could he hear them? Was he fully conscious? He groaned again and then spoke.

"Maddie?"

At the sound of his voice, warbled and throaty, Madeline gave a sob. Her hand rested on his face.

"Richard, I'm here. _You're alright. I'm here_."

"Maddie," he said again, and then lost consciousness.

* * *

That night ranked amongst the longest of Madeline's life. She didn't sleep, and she only drank a few sips of coffee and nibbled halfheartedly on some orange-ginger biscuits from Richard's mum.

Oliver stayed with her after everyone else left, though Richard's parents were only gone long enough to owl their family, eat, and freshen up.

They met most of Richard's family that night, everyone from his youngest red-headed cousin to his elderly grandmother, a wry-eyed woman named Imelda Callaghan, who told stories of Richard and his cousins running amok in her large gardens outside of Limerick. They also learned that Richard had recently been offered and had accepted a position with a magical law office and had been looking for a flat in London.

More than the shock of all this news, Madeline felt a deep and powerful wave of guilt and shame well up in her stomach. Worse than realising that she knew nothing about Richard's life was the knowledge that she herself had caused their separation—it wasn't his fault, or really even Claire's, that she and the others had ostracised him from their lives. All because he'd ended his relationship with Claire. Granted, Madeline knew that Claire's devastation was certainly part of their reasoning for not speaking to him. Their ending had felt unnatural, surreal, and downright _wrong_. To everyone.

And now, just over a year later, Madeline was furious at herself, at Nicolas, at Oliver, at Claire, and at Richard. Had seven years of friendship really meant so little to all of them? And how could Claire have let them abandon him in his time of need? How bloody selfish were they all, really?

Once they were back at the flat, Madeline called Nicolas and Claire into the common area. Gabriel was there too, as was Margaret, who had not visited Richard at all.

"Sit," said Madeline darkly. "Gabe, go home."

"Madeline, what's the matter?" he asked.

She shook her head sharply and held up her hand.

" _Go. Home_. What I'm about to say does not concern you."

Claire patted his arm, and then he frowned, stood, and retreated into Claire's room. Though this hadn't been where Madeline had wanted him to go, it would suffice. She didn't need him interrupting.

Though Madeline expected Nicolas to make a joke, or Margaret to roll her eyes, or Claire to roll her eyes at Margaret rolling her eyes, they did nothing but look up at Madeline with expressions solemn and wary.

She took a deep breath and began pacing, and they were all kind enough to let her release some of her pent-up anger and frustration by walking. Her hand was gripped tight around the handle of her wand.

 _Where to start?_ Madeline thought. _How even to begin?_

"It took me a long, _long_ time to realise that I was not— _am not_ —a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. Too long, really. It was Elaine, in our seventh year, who helped me see, after you all stunned those Slytherins, and I was furious at all of you… she said she felt like I sometimes _forgot_ what House I was in. And it wasn't until tonight, as I was piecing Richard back together dismembered organ by dismembered organ… that I realised that none of _you_ are Hufflepuffs."

At this, Claire let out a pained sob. Oliver stood, sat next to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. She cried briefly into her hands, wiped her face, and then looked back up to Madeline, eyes red and face blotchy.

"It finally occurred to me, my mistake," said Madeline after releasing an unsteady breath. "It wasn't that I'd forgotten my own House, but that I'd somehow convinced myself that you all weren't so different from me after all. What did being a Hufflepuff _really mean_ , anyway?"

Madeline laughed derisively and through her hands into the air melodramatically.

"We're the House full of brainless gits and simpering fools—of occasionally good-looking but cowardly, thick-headed, spineless, tender-hearted idiots. We hardly even _existed_ , except to be the arse of everyone's jokes. And I just—I can't believe I was so _stupid_ as to think that _I_ was above all that—to think that anyone outside of my House would remember Cedric as _more_ than that—to think that any of us are more than just _silly, stupid Hufflepuffs_.

"But we were all such good friends, and you lot knew me so well, that I never felt like I was out of place. In fact, I took it as a _compliment_ when you would fight over whether I was _really_ a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw, as if I _couldn't really_ be a Hufflepuff, because _Merlin forbid_ my House diminish my worth."

She stared, furiously, at all of them.

"Richard nearly _died_ tonight!" Madeline cried, her voice breaking, her limbs shaking with fury. "I almost lost another friend! And what's _worse_ is that if I hadn't _been there_ , if that hadn't been my _job_ to help him, _we wouldn't have known_!"

Madeline groaned angrily, shaking her fists. Tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes now.

"But maybe I'm not a Hufflepuff after all, considering what I've done to one of my closest friends. Abandon him at the first sign of weakness! How did we let this happen?! I _know_ he hurt Claire but when did we collectively decide that we weren't strong enough to deal with that? That _seven years_ of friendship was worth tossing out like old rubbish because he made a decision he thought was for the best?!"

Oliver was nodding minutely, his jaw set tight and lips in a thin line; Margaret was looking down at her hands; Nicolas was gazing wide-eyed at Madeline; Claire was sobbing into her hands again.

"We should all be ashamed. _I feel so damn selfish_. I can't believe—I _can't believe_ I've gone this long without reaching out to him, especially after we saw how upset he was in Prague. Richard was like a _brother_ to me, and I just dropped him at the first—first real test of loyalty. And I don't know what your feelings about this are, but mine are clear. I'm not planning to lose another friend anytime soon. You lot can do whatever you'd bloody well like, but he's going to be a part of my life again."

Madeline paused and looked around at them all again.

"I'd do the same for any of you. I can't lose anyone else."

Claire then bounded up and pulled Madeline into a tight embrace, and the two women cried and held each other.

"I'm sorry, Maddie. _I'm so sorry_ ," she said, repeating herself over and over.

"It's Richard who needs our apology," said Madeline gently. "Not me."

"You're right," she said, nodding and stepping away. "I'm so glad you were there."

"Me too," said Madeline with a sigh. "Truly."

* * *

Madeline and Oliver visited Richard the next afternoon, only to find him still sleeping. They spoke to his parents for a few minutes before Healer Watson bustled in, his face taking on a pained look when he saw Madeline, even though she wasn't wearing her uniform.

"Miss Palmer, he's doing quite alright, I assure you."

"Alright," said Madeline peaceably. "He's still my friend, and I'm still going to sit with him."

Watson nodded and moved about as necessary, noting Richard's temperature and completing other routine checks.

"Madeline, if you and Oliver are going to be here a while, I think we'll go home," said Cate. "We'll come back in the morning?"

"We can stay," said Madeline, nodding fervently.

Madeline knew she was in for another long night, but she brought a book with her and conjured a small sofa for her and Oliver to lounge on. Because of who she was, and even more so who her mother was, none of the Healers pestered Madeline about her sofa or anything. Richard's injuries had been so severe that they'd afforded him a small, private room, and he would only be moved to a different ward if he needed an extended stay. As it was, Madeline was sure he'd be moving around in a day or two.

"Any updates?" Madeline asked Oliver as she curled up close to him.

"We should have water in a few days," he said. "And then we can officially move in. But first, we're going on holiday. Right after Kendra's wedding."

"I haven't forgotten," said Madeline. "How could I? You've already packed your bags."

"Just like to be prepared."

"I will be so happy to have a house to ourselves," she whispered, pressing her lips to his neck. "I can hardly stop thinking about it."

"That makes two of us."

Madeline grinned and kissed his neck again, and just as Oliver leaned down to kiss her, Richard made a gruff noise. Madeline bolted up, wand in hand, and was at his side at once. His eyes opened blearily and lifted his left arm to his face heavily.

"Richard?"

"Mmmm."

Madeline immediately filled a cup with water and helped him drink from it.

"Why do I feel like shit?" he asked after a long moment.

Madeline touched the top of Richard's head, and his eyes closed as if trying to remember something important.

"We were sort of hoping you could tell us," said Oliver.

"Oliver?"

"Yeah, mate?"

" _Bloody hell_... am I dead?"

"Not yet," said Madeline, who laughed with relief. "Though you gave it a damn good go, I'll tell you. I've never had to work so hard in my entire life."

At this, Richard smiled and seemed to laugh gently.

"I'm in St Mungo's?"

"Yeah," said Madeline.

"I can't remember a damn thing," he said, lowering his arm. He opened his eyes again and looked fully at Madeline. "Though it's good to see you two."

"Likewise," said Oliver.

"I must've been in bad shape," he said. "I can hardly feel my right arm... or right leg..."

"That's the potion we gave you," said Madeline. "It numbs the pain."

" _Ah_. So... what happened to me?"

"You were splinched with a Muggle woman. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad tried to separate you and... it didn't go well. I will be having a nice little chat with them tomorrow, actually."

" _Splinched_. I feel like I should remember that."

"You had some serious damage, mate. Give it time," said Oliver.

"Right," said Richard. "So... how're you two? Have you shagged yet?"

* * *

A few days later, during the first week of August, Remus Lupin stopped by the flat to have a chat with Madeline. Thankfully only Margaret was around, and she was too busy cooking to care about their conversation. Nonetheless, they stepped onto the veranda, and Remus performed several spells before finally speaking.

"First... how are you?"

"Splendid," she said, her expression deadpan and tone lifeless.

"How are you _really_?"

Madeline sighed and looked around as if she might find a better answer in the London skyline. A soft, warm, muggy breeze wafted through her copper-tinted hair. It would likely rain again soon.

"Exhausted. Still angry at myself and my friends. But otherwise… fine."

"I heard about your friend Richard. How is he?"

"Well enough to attend our friend's wedding on Saturday, though I expressed my disapproval of the plan. But he is much better."

"That's good. I've heard about the Puddlemere gala too, you know," he said.

"Really?" Madeline asked, eyeing Remus with shame. But he laughed and smiled, his expression clear, and Madeline breathed a sigh of relief.

"You know your mistake now, and you were fortunate to learn that lesson with few serious consequences. I'm sure you won't be parting with your wand again anytime soon?"

" _No_ , never," said Madeline.

 _Always the teacher_ , she thought with a small smile.

"Besides, everyone was impressed that you handled the Confundus Charm so well. Some people are surprisingly vulnerable to it, and most cannot overthrow it. That means you'll be—"

" _Everyone_? Who all knows?" she asked, ignoring the compliment wholesale.

"Information in the Order travels quickly," said Remus. "Especially when Tonks is eager to tell a good story."

"Oh, Tonks," said Madeline heavily. "Whatever shall I do with her?"

"She means well, most of the time," he said, a small smile on his face. "As I was saying, if you can fight the Confundus Charm, you'll fare better than most against the Imperius Curse. It's all about knowing your own mind and having an anchor."

"An anchor?"

"Yes, quite like with the Patronus Charm, how it is anchored to a very happy memory. When trying to fight against or throw off the Confundus Charm or Imperius Curse, you will need to anchor yourself to reality."

 _Oliver_ , Madeline thought. _Of course._

"I was told that the person who cursed me wasn't particularly gifted. I'm sure it would've been worse had he any real talent."

"Don't be so sure," said Remus. "You may be stronger than you think. On a similar note, Minerva told me that you are nearly done with your Animagus training."

This surprised Madeline, and she turned to him with such shock that she felt alarmed.

"She did?!"

Remus grinned and laughed.

"Yes."

"That's excellent!"

"I've also come to inform you that Dumbledore would like you to attend our next meeting. It is tomorrow night. I hope you don't have any plans?"

"Just my meeting with Minerva," said Madeline quickly. A bolt of cold, anxious excitement struck her chest. McGonagall must have planned it all perfectly. Madeline had no cause to lie to anyone—she was simply meeting with her mentor.

"Good. You will go to her home, as usual, and she will escort you to our Headquarters."

Madeline nodded.

"You will meet several new people, and you will see some familiar faces."

"Really?"

"Two among them may be a bit of a surprise. But—I've already said too much. You will see tomorrow."

* * *

Madeline stood anxiously next to McGonagall in a dimly lit hallway of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She was to finally attend her first meeting and meet several of the fellow members, and she was properly nervous. Remus Lupin's vague hints and comments had left Madeline more anxious—and more curious—to meet the other members of the Order than ever. She tucked a stray strand of reddish-brown hair behind her left ear and followed Minerva into a room that looked like it was once a kitchen. Inside, there was a long wooden table, she saw immediately that she was in very good company. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting at the end of the table speaking in low voices, and next to them were Charlie, Bill, Remus, Tonks, and several people she did not recognise.

"Maddie!"

Tonks stood immediately when she saw Madeline and tipped over her goblet in the process. Those who noticed either smiled knowing or laughed good naturedly as Tonks intuitively cleared up her mess and made her way to Madeline.

"Everyone," said McGonagall, taking Madeline's arm and pulling her into the firelight, "this is Madeline Palmer, our youngest and newest member. Miss Palmer is our liaison at St Mungo's and will be keeping us updated about what's happening there," said McGonagall briskly.

There was a good bit of murmuring assent, and this bled into the sound of general chatter that had possessed the room before their entry.

Tonks led Madeline around the long wooden table and introduced her to everyone. Madeline hadn't realised that allowing her to do so meant that Tonks would be testing her own memory by providing unnecessary pieces of information when making introductions.

"Madeline's patronus is a wolf, can you believe it? She learnt when she was only 17! I was rubbish at Charms until Auror training."

"Madeline's great shakes at baking. Her cauldron cakes are _delicious_ , Molly."

"Oh, Madeline has an excellent memory for antidotes, don't you, Maddie?"

"Sirius, you've got to meet Madeline—"

Tonks waved at the man sitting next to Remus, who had handsome black hair and wore an excited expression.

"Madeline, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, this is Madeline Palmer, the Order's resident Healer."

Madeline yelped and jumped back into Remus, who seemed to have been waiting for something like this to happen. He caught Madeline, laughed, and patted her arm.

"Remember our last conversation at Hogwarts?"

Madeline nodded.

"It's alright," said Sirius with a grin. "I take it no one's told you _my_ version of the story, then?"

Madeline shook her head, still staring at him in disbelief.

"I'll get to it later," said Tonks impatiently. "Let her meet everyone else, Sirius. Come on, Maddie. He's harmless, really. He's Harry's godfather, too, can you believe that?"

Madeline met at least four more men before she was thankfully settled next to Charlie. Though Charlie seemed genuinely happy to see her, he could not contain his surprise at Oliver's absence. He hugged her briefly, and then they sat and began whispering to one another.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, 'course," she said.

"I meant… without him here," he added.

Madeline's eyes pierced Charlie then in a way he had never seen before, and he knew without a response that she was, in fact, devastated by his absence.

"Don't ask if you already know the answer," she snapped.

She shook away the sense of dread and fear lodged in her stomach, refusing to give this further thought, and watched as Severus Snape entered the room. Her stomach dropped another notch.

Though everyone quieted immediately, a few folks had the good grace to continue talking, including the man named Mundungus Fletcher. Madeline was not among them. She stared, openly bewildered, at his presence. Soon he was passing her seat at the table, and when his eyes met hers, she had the distinct impression that he was just as surprised by her presence as she was by his.

"Palmer," he said quietly, nodding jerkily at her, as if she'd proffered a passable potion.

"Professor," she said, her voice just as quiet.

He swept passed her and sat himself at an empty seat as far from Remus Lupin and Sirius Black as possible. Madeline felt her mind whirring in a million different directions when Charlie nudged her.

"Dumbledore trusts him," he whispered. "So we're all supposed to, too."

Rather than replying verbally, Madeline gave Charlie a look that clearly read, "what utter rubbish." Then, just as Charlie chuckled and meant to speak again, Albus Dumbledore entered the room, followed by the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. Their presence silenced the room but also brightened it, as if someone had produced the Patronus Charm. Madeline even felt herself smiling brightly at Kingsley, who winked at her.

They both sat near the Weasleys, were served some food, and then the meeting began.

* * *

After the meeting, Molly Weasley offered Madeline a slice of a Bakewell tart, and Madeline happily accepted. The members of the Order, Madeline realised, were happy to indulge in whatever food Mrs. Weasley had prepared, and after her first bite of the tart, she couldn't well blame them.

"It's delicious," said Madeline, mouth full, her eyebrows pressed together in surprise.

Tonks, Bill, and Charlie, who had seated themselves around Madeline, all laughed.

"I'm glad you like it, dear," said Mrs. Weasley with a smile.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to want to ask Madeline something, but she quickly excused herself when she saw Mundungus nearing the cauldron.

"I wonder who'll be sent to retrieve Harry," said Charlie, his own mouth full of the tart. "How well did you know him, Maddie?"

"Not well. Oliver knew him better, but that was just Quidditch. So you lot have been keeping an eye on him at his aunt and uncle's?"

"I've done a few shifts," said Tonks, who nodded. "He mostly ambles about the neighborhood looking sulky and angry. Occasionally kicks things. He looks a bit peakier than I expected."

"I bet he's been so lonely," said Madeline with a sigh and shake of her head. "I know he and Cedric weren't close but… _still_ …. Has he been able to see Ron or Hermione?"

"No," said Bill quietly. "No one but the Muggles and Mrs. Figg, from what dad was saying."

"Mrs. Figg?" asked Madeline.

"A squib. She lives on their street and keeps an eye on things there for Dumbledore," said Bill.

"Ron and Hermione are here, you know," said Tonks brightly. "And the twins!"

"Really?!" said Madeline, her expression brightening immediately.

"I'm not sure Mum would let you see them. She doesn't want them joining the Order, and they already know all of us have joined," said Bill. "And you're much closer to their age."

"Two years older," said Madeline quickly. "Three school years!"

"Doesn't matter," said Bill. "She'll not risk it."

Mr. Weasley, Remus, Sirius Black, Mundungus, and another man whose name Madeline couldn't remember were all seated closely together and speaking in whispers. Bill Weasley noticed her watching them and grinned into his cup. His winsome smile reminded her, quite painfully, of Cedric.

"Ignore them—they'll tell us eventually," he said sagely, leaning towards her.

Madeline nodded but said nothing, for it felt as though his grin had cleaved her chest in half.

Tonks finished guzzling a pint of beer and set it heavily on the table.

"They think, 'cos they're older, they aren't as stupid as us," she said ruefully. "Truth is, we're all stupid in our own way."

 _If that isn't the bloody truth_ , thought Madeline, _I don't know what is._

"Well said, Nymphadora," said Sirius Black, who suddenly appeared and took the seat next to Madeline. Tonks glared at him, and he grinned back at her.

"He does that to piss me off," Tonks said bitterly to Madeline.

"I wouldn't if it didn't work," he said, laughing brightly. "But that's not why I've come over. Miss Palmer, I've heard you're nearly an Animagus. How's it going?"

"What _d'you_ know about Animagus training?" asked Charlie.

"Not very bright, are you lad?" asked Sirius, his eyes glinting with mirth.

" _You're_ an Animagus?" asked Madeline, staring wildly at the man sitting next to her.

"I am, indeed," he said with a grin. "Managed when I was just _fifteen_. It's an excellent story! It all began my first year at Hogwarts, when the heavens aligned, and James Potter and I met—"

"Sirius," said Remus, who had ambled over, his eyes bright. He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Not tonight, mate."

"Why not?"

"Madeline needs to go home," he replied gently. "Her friends will be nervous if she is gone too long."

Everyone suddenly checked their watches, including Madeline, who then sighed. It was nearly midnight.

"Remus is right. Oliver's probably pacing up and down, scotch in hand—"

"Hasn't changed, has he?" asked Charlie with a grin.

"Course not—and you know you can see him whenever you want, it just can't always align with these meetings. It would be suspect, I think."

"Maddie's right," said Tonks with a yawn. "Too much of a coincidence."

"'eah, alright," said Charlie.

Madeline stood and put her hand on Charlie's broad shoulder. His build was too similar to Oliver's for her to ignore it.

"It was good to see you again," she said.

He stood and hugged Madeline in a brotherly, bear-like grasp.

"Glad to have you with us," he said, still hugging her.

"Alright, alright, let her go," said Tonks, swatting at Charlie's arms. "She's got to get home."

* * *

 **Chapter 20: A Smouldering Ruin**

"That was unnecessary," said Nicolas with a grin and perked eyebrow.

"Which means you approve on principle?" asked Madeline.


End file.
